


To Be Happy Always

by firbolging



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: AU, Abusive Relationships, Awkward Allies to Friends to Lovers, Canon Typical Violence, F/M, Mental Health Issues, References to Abuse, References to Starvation, References to Torture, Suicidal Thoughts, fairy tale AU, references to death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2020-11-26 05:16:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 36,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20924777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firbolging/pseuds/firbolging
Summary: “Hi,” she said softly, stepping forwards with raised hands as though approaching a startled horse. “Are you the prince?”The scraggly beard and long, dirty ginger hair that disappeared behind his back did not exactly speak of royalty, but she was hopeful. The man looked at her long and hard before, weary beyond belief. Jester stared back at the man, something close to sorrow spilling from her as she met his eyes. Not dead. But certainly not alive. Then, very slowly, he shook his head.





	1. Exit, Pursued By

_“We cannot expect to be happy always ... by experiencing evil as well as good we become wise_” – Hans Christian Andersen

Jester did not really place a foot in the world until she was very much grown up. Now she wasn’t caged, precisely. The door was technically open, but it would take a push to encourage air beneath her wings, to guide her away from her mother's embrace.

Marion Lavorre was a mother first and a business woman second. Her clients, however, would not have appreciated that order of things even if they had known about Jester. But when the guests spilled back out on the street after her singing, or when a gentleman’s hours were up, she slipped into her darling daughter’s room. It was usually late enough that Jester should be sleeping, but she’d always give herself away with a soft giggle, or by lying just a little too still to be believable for such a restless sleeper.

“You should be asleep,” Marion would whisper.

Jester would snap her eyes open and scramble up.

“Oh, but, Mama!” she’d protest. “You know how hard it is for me to sleep without a story.”

Marion thought herself a rational, reasonable woman. She had been swept up by fairy tales once and though it had given her the greatest wonder in all the world – Jester – it had also left her with a thoroughly shattered heart. But when Jester stared up at her with pleading eyes, she was powerless to refuse.

And then age marked both of them. Marion stayed beautiful and skilled, but she grew weary from long hours and settled into bed as soon as work was done. Jester grew taller, grew stronger, and, tragically, too old to need a story to sleep. Too old for imaginary friends. It was a good thing, then, that the Traveler was as real as the whip of his cloak, as the rush of wind he rode in on. When she was younger, she would press him for tales from the fey wild or the plains of hell. But as she grew, so did her curiosity.

“I want to know about this world,” she said. “I want to know what crazy things are happening out there. Is it as wonderful as the books say?”

“It’s certainly something,” he said. Jester giggled happily as he continued. “There is a war between tiny, thumb sized people, breaking out in a bramble patch. There is a king who, under the influence of an evil mage, is pushing to seize all means of magics. There is an intricate forest of arcane mechanics where nothing natural grows. There is a tower with a single room that holds a prince who cannot leave it. There is a-”

“Wait,” she said. He held his tongue with a smile. “Tell me more about this prince. Is he handsome?”

“Eye of the beholder." Jester looked up into the place she assume his face would be, shrouded in the shadows of his cloak. A breeze caught the fabric and she could have sworn she saw him exhale. As though defeated. “I haven’t seen him.”

“Maybe I could rescue him.”

“If anyone could…” he trailed off, but the implication was clear.

She blushed beneath his brazen praise, but did not take it too much to heart. Jester was her mother’s daughter and home was home. It would take more than promises of princes to encourage Jester to stray.

* * *

Caleb’s tower did not _look_ like a prison from the outside. At least not in his memory. It had been fifteen odd years since he’d seen the outer walls of the place, but when he’d been led to his room all those years ago, he had remembered thinking it a beautiful structure. The stones spiralled with smooth sides and symmetrical cuts, and the ground which surrounded it was clear of the trees which grew thick in every other direction. He remembered the bright light of dawn shining down onto the spot and thinking, stupidly, maybe it would not be so terrible a stay.

The room itself was furnished only with what was necessary for living. He had a bed, a table, a chair, and a bucket. In abundance, however, were books and candles. In his arrogant youth, he had thought perhaps he could burn the place down with what he’d been given. Very quickly, however, he learnt that just because magic could not be used within his walls, this did not mean that spells cast without them would not stick. Unburnable books and sheets. Which, he supposed, was an obvious precaution given his history. Not even a knife could be turned against flesh, neither his nor his master’s. He tore meat apart with his teeth and hands. He cut his hair on nothing and his face became swallowed by an unkempt beard.

Escape was impossible.

There were only two exits. The first was a heavy metal door, decorated with numerous locks of varying intricacy. The keys to which were held by one man alone. The second exit was open to anyone. A great big, glassless, arched window. An exit only insofar as death was an exit to life.

He did wonder, though, what would happen if he tried it. He doubted it would work, in fact he was almost certain, that it would not. It was almost a given that his captor hadn’t created some secret measures to prevent him from doing what he seemed completely free to. Just as he had done with the books. It seemed, to him, more of a reminder. The unattainable potential of death. The power that was withheld, that was held over him. His life was Trent Ikithon’s and it would end only on his word.

The Cerberus Assembly was established to protect the Empire. It was sustained, however, by and through a self-satisfied, all-consuming adoration of its own cleverness. The people who comprised it were the same. Torture and murder for the sake of King and country was nothing more than the hollow shell of their system. And Ikithon was the worst of them all. Caleb felt sick to his stomach at the memory of his mind working in such a way. Cleverness above all else. The abstract spirit of the nation kept safe in affluence while its people toiled away, playthings to the highest minds. Kindling for the fire.

Growing up, Caleb had prided himself on having such a degree of control. Over his powers, but mostly over his mind. And then his mind had broken. It had returned, impossibly, to him over time, as days turned to months turned to half of his lifetime spent staring out at the ever-growing expanse of arcane forest his tower was encompassed by; Trent Ikithon’s claim to genius. The true purpose of this experiment in botany had never been revealed to Caleb, though he spent much of his time staring out at its canopies. It was a sprawling mess of vibrancy. Utterly unnatural. Roots and trunks gnarled into arcane runes. Not dead, but certainly not alive. It was not a place where things grew. It was where things were made, changed, and destroyed.

Caleb had been subject to all three. He was a weapon as much as anything else in that forest. Kept blunt, yes, but ready for sharpening. And that would be Trent Ikithon’s downfall; his reluctance to destroy his own creations; an infallible pride in his work.

* * *

Marion Lavorre, known better and more widely as ‘The Ruby of the Sea,’ entertained many a powerful gentleman from all corners of western Wildemount. Jester had never taken these men to be above her trickery and had seen little consequence to any of her more playful acts. Consequences were nothing. Until they were everything.

Jester had shut herself away in her room the moment the screaming had begun. Screaming from anger. Not pain. Screaming from pure anger. It was not something Jester had ever heard before. But she was certain it was a sound she would never forget. She had never considered herself a coward before, but the evidence was irrefutable.

“Traveler,” she called out. “Traveler, I think I really, really messed up. I need you.”

A rush of wind and an open door and her mother stood before her.

“I’m so sorry,” said Jester, voice smaller than ever before.

Marion’s red face had paled to a sickly pink.

“My darling,” she said, her voice breaking. “You have to go.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s… he didn’t know I had a daughter and he’s… he knows he can use it against me. Against us.” Marion swallowed hard and Jester saw the heartbreak she felt reflected in her mother’s eyes. “You have to run. And quickly.”

Before Jester could process this, Marion had grabbed one of Jester’s larger bags and begun stuffing it full of clothing.

“Mama, no,” she said after a moment. “No! I won’t leave you.”

Marion moved to the dresser to throw in other objects her wired mind thought necessary for travel and said, with a weary voice, “Jester please. It’s not safe for you to stay.”

“If it’s not safe for me to stay, then it’s not safe for _you_ to stay!”

“Jester,” and her voice was so pleading. Thick with it, even. Jester could not deny her. “Jester please go.”

They stared at one another, tearful and shaking. Jester accepted the bag and nodded.

"I'll go," she said. "I promise."

She made another promise, a silent one, to herself, that she would return for her mother.

“Be safe. And,” Marion glanced over her shoulder before turning back to Jester and saying, in a much, much quieter voice, “I have asked Blude to escort you safely to the city walls. He has fetched you some of my hidden gold.”

“Okay, Mama.”

“Please write to me when you can. Just don’t give your location. Or your name. Or,” Marion’s quivering lip gave way to heavy sobs and Jester’s heart broke another three times.

“Mama,” said Jester, dropping the bag, taking Marion’s head in her hands and realising how small the difference in height was between them. “You stay safe too, okay?”

“I always do.”

“I love you so much.”

“Not half as much as I love you.”

Before her mother was forced to tell her to leave once more, retrieving and clutching the bag tight to her chest so it did not spill its contents, Jester took her place out in the wide world.

The city of Nicodranas was not unfamiliar from the ground (though her most familiar view of it was from the windows of their private apartments above the high-end inn her mother headlined). Blude, their mild-mannered minotaur bodyguard, had taken Jester on errands around the city before. Though the journeys had never extended beyond a few hours. And she had rarely gone further than the Opal Archways District. It was the oldest, the wealthiest, and the most secure of the districts. Blude had only taken her beyond the boundary when her big violet eyes begged for the seaside.

Their journey that day did not take them in the direction of the ocean.

“West is safest,” said Blude, leading Jester firmly and hastily, but never once pushing or dragging her. Never coming close to hurting her. “You should head for Port Damali.”

“Port Damali?” she scoffed.

She’d heard of the place and it had never caught her attention. Trading. Business. Nothing romantic. Blude’s certainty, however, set it firmly in her mind as her destination.

“There’ll be money enough for a horse,” said Blude.

“Is it very far?”

“A week or so ride. Maybe longer.”

Jester could not hold it in any longer. Tears began to fall hot and heavy, and Blude, seeing this, pulled her aside.

“Jester,” he said. His voice was uncharacteristically soft. It did not set her at ease. “You are clever and strong. And if you need anything just write to me, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I would follow you if I could.”

“No,” said Jester. “Mama needs you more. If she’s gonna have that terrible man sniffing about.”

Blude did not outright agree with this statement, but she could see by the clench of his jaw and the steel of his gaze that she was more correct than she’d dared believe.

As he began to lead her once more through the winding Nicodranas streets, Jester forced herself to ask, “Is she in very terrible danger?”

“No,” he said quickly. “I will keep her safe.”

“I know you will,” she said brightly, the tears still falling fast. “You always keep us safe.”

They took great strides in silence until they reached the city walls. A handful of guards were posted by the gate and Jester looked to Blude questioningly.

Clearing his throat, the minotaur, dressed only from the waist upwards, said, “Excuse me, gentlemen. This young lady arrived on the steps of the Lavish Chateau, all worked up. She’s trying to get home to the Empire, but her horse collapsed.”

The guards took one glance at Jester’s sob-stained face and seemed to buy it at once. It did not take a lot of imagination to rouse up her tears once more. Blude placed a giant, gentle hand on her hand and guided her towards the gawking guards.

“I had that horse since I was a little girl,” she whined. “He was my best friend.”

“I have work to do,” said Blude over Jester’s exaggerated sobbing. “If you could sort out a horse for her quickly. She’s good for the money.”

Jester tried to cry harder and let out something close to a wail. From what she could see through her tears and hands, the majority of the guards seemed disinterested or even disturbed by her outburst. Or perhaps it was Blude’s unclothed lower half. Regardless, only the nearest guard, a pimple-scarred young man, seemed at all moved by the story.

“It’s alright,” he said, moving tentatively closer. “We’ll sort you out.”

“He was the only one who understood, you know?”

“Of course, of course,” said the guard, a cautious arm hovering around Jester’s shoulder. Then, glancing at Blude, he said, “We’ve got it from here, mate.”

“Wait!” cried Jester.

She spun around and ran into Blude’s arms.

“Thank you so much,” she sobbed. Then, remembering the onlookers, added, “For helping me find the city gates!”

“It’s okay, Miss,” he replied softly, rubbing a slow circle on her back. “Anything for such a fine young lady.”

Jester held him a little longer than was perhaps smart. But he was the only person besides her mother and the Traveler who she had ever felt any real kinship with. She would have liked their goodbye to last well into evening, but people were watching and waiting, and Blude stepped back, gave her one last smile, and turned away.

Jester adjusted the bag on her shoulder, hiking it up where it had begun to slip during their embrace. The clasp was being pushed to its limits, but she had no time to worry about that.

The guard was asking questions.

“The empire, did you say? What brought you so far south?”

She knew Blude had lied about her destination for a reason and so did not dare correct him.

“I wanted to see Nicodranas,” she said softly. “I’ve heard so many stories about how beautiful it is.”

“It is a fine city,” he said. “Now, we’ll fetch you a horse, but,” he gave an anxious look over to his fellow guards who watched on with disapproval. “You will have to pay.”

“Oh, that’s fine!”

And she was suddenly struck with the fact that Blude had not given her the money. She wondered how suspicious it would seem for her to run after him, but a ghost of a hand grazed her lower back, just above the belt, and, sure enough, attached there was a heavy pouch of coin.

Oh, clever Blude, she thought, mother would be safe with him. She was sure of it.

Jester followed the road up towards the Empire, wary of the guards still watching her back. Eventually, however, she had wound her new horse – Yarnball she had decided to name her – around enough corners and over enough hills to be out of sight of Nicodranas. She glanced back, squinting in the setting sunlight, to see the city she had never once left in her whole life, a great smudge of dark shapes and twinkling lights. Like looking at the night’s sky. It felt just as far.

The crying had stopped some time ago, too weary to keep going with it. But there, knowing she had to turn and move even further away, not knowing when her mother’s lilting songbird voice would reach her ears once more, the tears returned hot and fast.

To Port Damali then, she thought. Though the horse did not turn. Her grip on the reins did not tighten. Over and over signs for the west was passed. And she kept onwards and upwards towards the Empire. Towards the place where the stories played out. Through the door the Traveler had left teasingly open in her imagination.

* * *

“There has been a situation,” said Trent Ikithon by way of greeting. “Ludinus has let his hubris get the better of him again.”

Caleb turned to face him blankly, back up against the stone wall, fingers fiddling with one of the many holes in his undershirt.

“It’ll be fine,” said Trent, reassuring himself. “It’ll be fine. It’ll just be a bit of a headache for a week or so.”

It was as though Caleb was not there. As though Trent was ranting about his esteemed colleague to an empty room. Sometimes he did that. Caleb did not feel honoured. It only served as a reminder that he was, at best, a vessel for Master Ikithon to fill, and at worst, a dead man.

The safest place in the world to store your secrets.

“I’ll have to go up to Rexxentrum for a while. We need to regroup as an assembly to manage this fiasco,” he continued.

Caleb’s stomach lurched and he immediately scolded himself, mentally, for the reaction. Trent wanted Caleb to miss him. He wanted him to watch out the window for his arrival.

The only comfort, only flaw in Trent’s carefully cultivated dependency, was that Caleb did not warm at the thought of his company. His mind had not yet bent backwards into breaking that way once more. It was the necessity of his visits that caused the craving. The clean water; the fresh food. When Trent was otherwise occupied the rationing had to become stricter. The suffering just that little more severe.

Caleb looked at Trent with a newfound interest as his once-mentor, now-captor continued to complain about Ludinus. He wondered if there was any truth to this story. Or if it was a test. He was well-acquainted with Master Ikithon’s teaching methods.

Sometimes he thought Trent forged excuses to leave Caleb to his own devices as an abstract and cruel attempt at straining his sanity. A reminder of just how much Caleb needed him.

“Okay,” said Caleb, as unbroken as he could muster. The question of when Trent would return stayed stuck beneath his tongue, would stay stuck no matter how much it wriggled in attempted escape. “I hope all goes terribly for you.”

“Ja, ja,” sighed Trent. “Damn me and all that. But who would feed you?”

Like a pet. Or worse. A caged beast who could be poked with a stick. A private exhibit. 

Caleb smiled and replied, “That is a price I am willing to pay.”

Nothing pierced that steely gaze. Nothing Caleb could wield anyway. Peers could cause a chink. Real threats alone. And while Caleb was a beast, he was caged. His teeth and claws filed down to nubs, barking without backing. If his parents could see him now. If Astrid could.

He tried not to think of Astrid; she was a past long passed. But what else did he have to think on? The display of Ikithon through his window, on his walls, in the slowly browning bucket of water meant to keep him clean for weeks at a time.

He knew he’d acted badly and she would surely agree. To her, he was a traitor. To himself, he was a failure. If he was going to falter, to question, why could he not have done it to some happy end? Death hounded their heels, all of them. It was too late for treason. 

Still, he thought of what they once were. How they adored and admired one another. How they adored and admired themselves more. All three of them; Eodwulf as well. Bound together by things that could not be broken until they were. Could not be mended at all. Love, loyalty. A fire they stoked in seamless succession. Did it burn just as brightly in tandem? Or were the two nothing without a third? Pride hoped so. As did bitterness. 

Modesty had never become him. Being born into poverty had only served to fund his sense of importance. Being special amongst what was considered common, that had knocked his chin up. The manners his parents instilled taught him to lower it at times, to show respect, to charm more than boast.

“That boy of yours,” he heard their neighbours say, “He is going to do incredible things.”

His mother would stare at him with wide-eyed awe and adoration, cooing, “How are you so clever already? You read things I can’t even understand!”

He was grateful, of course, when his tiny and unimportant village of Blumenthal passed around a pot in his name, to pay his way to the capital, to the very best school. The gratitude, however, was curdled by the pride. The unshakeable pride. The belief that this gift was his right.

Thirteen years old, a nobody from nowhere, and he was a star pupil at the Soltryce Academy. Hand-picked by Trent Ikithon for private tutoring. One of only three chosen. And rightly so. There had been nothing but complete certainty that such a fate was deserved. His certainty held just as strong for the fate that befell him afterwards.

When he heard the final breaths of his parents, exhaled in screaming; inhaled in smoke, the firm footing he’d known from his first steps. They had been traitors. They had been enemies of the Empire. They had. They had. They hadn’t. They were dead. His mind had been played with. That indomitable asset he prized above all else.

He fell to his knees before his childhood home as the scorching crackling of the support beams filled the dry night air.

Followed by fifteen years of kneeling before tower walls, before Trent’s lectures, before his own hands as he clasped them in abject confession.

“You’ll snap out of this one day. And you’ll return to where you truly belong,” Trent would say.

He meant the academy, in service of the Empire. Caleb knew where he truly belonged and it was not with those people. He deserved chains and punishment. He was not, however, selfless enough a man to not wish for freedom.

* * *

It was fine. Totally fine. Cool even. It was an adventure. So, okay, yes, she wouldn’t see her momma for a while. That broke her heart. It did. But that didn’t mean it had to ruin her. Her earlier outburst felt sillier with each mile put between her and it, each mile closer to the marvellous stories she would live, would tell. A story to trade every single one her mother had ever given her.

Three nights of sleeping in the nicest inns her gold could buy, of tying bows into Yarnball’s mane and tail, of meeting tens of new people each day, put it all into perspective.

Jester pushed on towards the border, determined and hopeful. It was only upon catching sight of the Empire’s Crown’s Guard, thoroughly checking the intent and identity of all who tried to pass, that she slowed.

“Oh, Yarnball,” she sighed, giving her mare a soft pat on the neck. “They don’t look so friendly.”

It would take more than tears, no matter how genuine, to talk those soldiers into letting her past. She pulled Yarnball’s reins, turning her slowly off road.

She pulled out some parchment and scrawled a note in the hand of Lord Sharpe, the last client of her mother’s whose papers she’d been able to get a hold of, requesting his trusted servant northwards to… shit. She tried hard to think of a single city outside of the Menagerie Coast. Of course, she’d learnt the major landmarks of Wildemount in her studies. That didn’t mean she remembered any of them, though.

With great concentration, she thought and thought until finally a single place came to mind.

“Hupperdook!” she gasped.

How could she have forgotten? No, she did not remember its place in the Empire, nor its size, nor its main exports. The name, however, had stuck, due to it sounding so very silly.

“Hupperdook,” she’d laughed.

That particular tutor, a stern gnomish man with a withering hairline and spindled spectacles, gave her a poisonous glare.

“Come on!” she cried in response to his growing irritation. “It’s a funny name.”

“You lady,” he said. “I am from Hupperdook.”

“Oh.”

“Yes.”

“Is it as fun as its name?”

He slammed the book shut and the lesson had ended there.

The Crown’s Guard who had been assigned to her gave her a suspicious look after reading her papers. “Hupperdook, eh?” he asked.

“Yep,” she replied chirpily.

“On what business?”

“Oh, you know, Lord Sharpe really needs me to deliver a package there. I’m his most trusted servant so…”

The guard looked back at the note. Back at Jester. And then back at the note. Jester clenched her teeth in an unnervingly wide grin, staring back and barely blinking all the while. Perhaps it was something to do with the quality of her clothing, or the rings on her fingers, but with a sigh, the guard handed her note back and said, “Well, if you can pay the toll.”

“Oh, of course!”

He was rinsing her. She did not miss the furtive glances he shot his fellows, nor the way he shoved the gold she offered into an inside pocket of his coat. But if a bribe was what it took to get where she wanted, a bribe it would be. After all, she was not short of money.

Still grinning, still unblinking, Jester asked, “So, am I free to come in?”

He gave a curt nod, clearly ready to be done with their shady business.

“Thank you so much sir!” she cried, a little louder than needed.

“Yes, right,” he stammered. “On you go.”

“Oh, are you sure you don’t need to check any more papers?” It was risky to poke the bear, but it was so much fun. Another wide-eyed look on his part told her she only had a few pokes left. “Well, this has been lovely! Say, where are you from in the Empire, sir? Can you recommend anywhere for me to stay on my journey?”

With a tilt of his head, he seemed to consider her question.

“I’m not from so far east as Hupperdook, but you’ve got to pass through Trostenwald.”

“Is it nice?”

“It’s a beer town. That’s about it.”

“Sounds magical.”

“Right, yeah, now get gone.”

Chuckling to herself, Jester prompted Yarnball to move on. Onwards to Trostenwald, she supposed. Traffic was sparse and loneliness set heavy in her bones as the evening turned to night turned to morning. 

The signs to Trostenwald did not seem to grow closer together nor more optimistic in the miles left to go. She’d passed an inn an hour or so back, run down and close to drowning in transport carts and caravans. As her eyes began to itch from lack of sleep, she gave up on finding somewhere with quality sheets.

On broken springs, by the light of a single candle, Jester scribbled all the things she had seen, with emphasis on that Crown’s Guard, trousers down, chasing a runaway creature which she revealed in a later sketch to be his dick come alive.

A familiar chuckle tickled her ear.

“Traveler?” she called out into the dusty air.

“Do not go to Trostenwald,” he said. “It’s terribly boring.

“I’m open to suggestions! Hey, are any of the things from your stories nearby?”

After a moment’s consideration he said, “A few. A forest in a forest. And a prince in a tower.”

Against her will, her eyes closed and her vision turned rapidly from black to green. A treeline lay before her.

“Which way is that?” she breathed.

“You’ll know. When you get back on the road, you’ll know.”

“Oh, man. This is gonna be so cool.”

* * *

Caleb’s weeks rarely differed. His food and water were rationed with practiced perfection by then, having had to do so since the age of seventeen. Beyond what was required to keep him living, there was little to do besides sit and think. He would stare at the walls and ruminate until his eyes began to play tricks, and then snuff the candles, lie on his rickety wooden bed, curl his hair beneath his back for cushioning, and stare instead at the ceiling. Hunger pangs were as constant a companion as regret, his bony body growing accustomed to the craving.

The trouble was that the longer Ikithon was away, the more his resources were stretched, and the longer he was left with only his mind for company. And Ikithon had been gone for close to a week with no sign of returning. Without any indication of when he would be visited once more, Caleb had given up on bathing in favour of drinking. And, while he was usually dirtied and ragged, he became filthy and torn. Rations were cut down to scraps, allowing Caleb to fill a few moments of each day with repeated counting and measuring. Just to be safe and certain. As much as he could be.

On Caleb’s last night in the tower, he let the candles burn for a little longer than usual, sat with his head to the wall and his eyes to the window. He would not admit to himself that he was hoping to see his captor, but that was the truth of it.

Hungry and hateful, he stared on. Candle light danced against the stone, mingling with moonlight. Stories played out in shadow, some he’d learnt from his mother and father, more he’d learnt from his studies. He saw the prestige of the Empire and the atrocities he had committed in the name of upholding it.

He had far too many regrets for counting, but in that moment he wished more than anything he had listened to the stories his parents had tried to impart.

“I don’t care about fairy tales,” he’d scoffed; too young to know just how young he was. “I want to read about real things.”

“Fairy tales are very real,” his mother had said, holding him tight against her chest, an open storybook between them.

“By definition, they are not.”

She’d let out a roaring laugh and said, “You, my boy, are too smart for your own good. You put us to shame, you know?”

Well it was too late to listen now. Una Widogast had been burnt alive by the side of her husband, at the hands of her son. The shadows converged into that terrible memory. A childhood home aflame.

He stared on and on until, suddenly, the image shattered. Something sparkling clinked against the windowsill and Caleb, not having had a visit from anyone other than Ikithon in his entire time in the tower, did not realise he should be curious. Not until a drastically different silhouette burst into view.

Caleb pressed himself impossibly further back against the wall, frantically trying to figure out what in the world was going on. Perhaps something had happened to Ikithon. Perhaps this was a successor to the man’s title, here to inspect their inherited prisoner.

Still, there was the suspicion of everything presented. Ikithon loved tests, loved mind tricks. And from the little he could see as they stood up straight, this stranger seemed to be a woman.

Almost in a daze, almost inaudibly, he said, “Astrid?”

* * *

Jester shifted on her heel so the flickering candlelight might bring her into sharper perspective. She wasn’t under any illusion that she was the only blue-skinned woman in the world. But, you know, it was rare. She was a rare jewel. Not to be mistaken easily.

“Hi,” she said softly, stepping forwards with raised hands as though approaching a startled horse. “Are you the prince?”

The scraggly beard and long, dirty ginger hair that disappeared behind his back did not exactly speak of royalty, but she was hopeful.

The man looked at her long and hard before, weary beyond belief. Jester stared back at the man, something close to sorrow spilling from her as she met his eyes. Not dead. But certainly not alive. Then, very slowly, he shook his head.

“Oh.” She realised she sounded disappointed, which she quickly corrected. “Well, you know, whoever you are, I’m here now and you’re safe.”

“Safe?” he laughed.

Cold. Chilling. Jester almost shivered.

“Yeah, I’m here to rescue you,” she said.

“Ja. Sure. Whatever.”

“I thought you’d be a little more excited, but okay.” Nothing in his body seemed capable of a fight, even if there was a desire for one. She hurried forwards to his side, to help him stand, to feel his solid form and understand the actuality of it all. Three things became clear in rapid succession. Firstly, he was not as weak as he looked, getting to his feet without too much difficulty. Secondly, the long red hair which tumbled down out of sight was close to scraping the floor when standing. Lastly, and most overwhelmingly, the man smelt absolutely awful. “Oh, wow,” she choked. “You don’t have a bath up here?”

“What?”

He shifted his weight off of her shoulder and onto his own two feet.

“It’s just you smell really bad,” she said.

“I have been locked in this room for almost fifteen years.”

Jester had to concede that it was a reasonable excuse. It did not, however, lessen the stench.

“Okay, well, you seem to be okay standing by yourself.”

She shuffled a few feet away from him, fingers unabashedly pinching down her nostrils. With a new perspective on the room at large, she felt surprise. Everything about the place spoke of the barest of essentials. A good third of the round wall, however, was stocked with what must have been a few hundred books, from floor to ceiling.

“Oh, wow, that is a lot of books!” Jester ran forwards to inspect the spines for familiar titles or authors. Many were in Zemnian, but more were in Common. She recognised none of them. “I’ve never seen any of these books before I don’t think,” she said, running a finger across each shelf as though it would ensure she’d not missed anything. Thick dust ribboned off, not separating too quickly. Turning back to the man, she asked, “You don’t read any of them?”

“Empire propaganda.”

“All of them?”

“Ja.”

“What? Not even a single romance novel?”

“Yeah, that’s the real tragedy here,” he replied. So dryly she did not note it as sarcasm right away.

“You know, you’re really not acting like a person who’s just been rescued. And you say you’re not a prince?” He shook his head again, red hair knocking against his knees. “Maybe I’ve got the wrong place.”

“I don’t know exactly what you were looking for, but if you wanted a prisoner in a tower, I’m the only one around here.”

“So you don’t have a neighbour who’s, like, a super handsome prince?”

Sounding both genuinely surprised and offended at the question, he said, “No!”

“Right. Cool. Cool. Well, I guess that makes you the guy then. I’ll have to talk to the Traveler about this, but, you know, adventure is adventure.”

“That is undeniably true.”

Silence fell between them. She half-expected him to start packing before realising that, beyond the clothes on his back and the books on his shelves, there was little in the way of sentimentality or use.

Increasingly uncomfortable, she cried, “Oh, I forgot to ask what your name was.”

A moment passed in which he blinked at her in surprise before saying, “It’s Caleb.”

“Nice to meet you, Caleb. I’m Jester.”

She held out her hand for him to shake, and he accepted after only a moment’s hesitation.

“Jester, can I ask you a question?”

“Of course!”

“How did you find me?”

Jester wanted to boast of the dangers she had faced, of the fights she’d won, of the days she’d spent wandering the forest beyond. But the truth was the adventure had been rather lacking in… adventure. Smiling in spite of this, she said, “Oh, the Traveler showed me the way. He’s really cool and he knows basically everything about everything, I think.”

“This is… a man you know?”

“Well, yes. But also not exactly. He’s not like a _man_ man. He’s a god. That’s how I got up here as well. I just summoned a grappling hook and it appeared. Pretty cool, yeah?”

“You are a woman of the cloth?”

“Not technically. Like, not officially, I mean. But my cloth is still very nice. Here, feel it! Wait, no, don’t feel it. Your fingers look super dirty.”

“I was not going to feel your clothes.”

“Well then we are cool.”

Another silence fell, somehow more uncomfortable than the first. This time, it was Caleb who broke it.

“So are we getting the hell out of here?”

“If you’re ready then yeah!”

Jester led the way to the window and saw that her spiritual grappling hook had faded during their conversation. Without concern, she grasped the holy symbol on her belt and focused on summoning another. After a long thirty seconds, nothing had happened. It never took even close to this long before.

“What the fuck, man?” she said, turning to Caleb. “Why can’t I summon my spiritual weapon?”

“Magic cannot be cast from inside these walls,” he said, sounding far closer to exhausted than disappointed.

“Okay, so if I jump out and then-”

“Nor from a five feet radius beyond.”

“Oh…” she said. “Well, fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please kudos/comment if you enjoyed it. As always I am incredibly thankful to @tamilprongspotter for his patience and proofreading.


	2. Let Down Your Hair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic just gets longer (in my head and scattered docs) by the day. Thank you for your patience I hope you enjoy this chapter! <3

Caleb felt badly for her. Truly. And if there was an escape available, he’d help her through it. If only one could leave, that was. Her staying behind would mean certain death. Besides, this was a prison of his making. Not hers. 

“Okay, okay, okay,” she said, sounding more determined and less certain with each repetition of the word “Okay, so if I can jump out five feet from the window-”

“Are you crazy? You’ll hit the ground.”

“Not if I have something to hold on to, you know? Okay so I have my cloak and we have-” she broke off and ran to the bed. “And some sheets! These are pretty good. We could tie these together?”

“They’ll get you five feet down, not five feet out.”

“I’ll just tear them.”

“No, they don’t…” but he trailed off as she tugged at the yellowed sheets regardless.

For a good thirty seconds, face darkening with effort and concentration, Jester tried to rip the unrippable bed sheets.

“Shit, fucking, balls!” she cried, finally dropping the offending item and kicking it halfway across the room. “What is that even made of? Unicorn bone?”

“I think just cotton, but, you know, everything in here is enchanted to stay whole. Nothing can be turned into a weapon or a tool to escape.”

“Well, that’s stupid.”

With a little laugh, he said, “Not if you want to keep someone trapped.”

It was strange to feel so helpless in the face of her growing frustration. He hadn’t confronted the complete and utter hopelessness of his situation for quite some time, but watching her grow to understand it, the truth was impossible to avoid. The walls of the room closed in, tightened upon his skin which tightened upon his bones in turn. He scratched at his forearm as though it might let in a little air and allow him to breathe. He was in a sandpaper tunnel and he forgot, for a moment, that he was being watched. Under her heavy stare, he pulled his nails away from his arm and stood rigid.

“Sorry,” he breathed, not entirely sure what he was apologising for.

She continued to stare and, with something akin to wonder, she said, “You know, Caleb, your hair is pretty long. What is that? Like five feet at least?”

His mouth went dry. 

He swallowed hard. 

He answered as clearly as he could, “No.”

“Why not?” she pressed, as though he had just declined an invitation to go and see a play.

“Just to be clear,” he said. “You want to tie my bedsheets to the bottom of my hair so you can hang off of it, in the hopes that it will give you enough leeway to kick five feet away from the side of the tower?”

“Yeah!”

“I have heard better ideas.”

“Yeah? Like what? Staying up here forever?”

“You’ll end up tearing off my scalp.”

She scoffed, “Don’t be so dramatic. Do you wanna get out of here or not?”

Caleb was not so precious about his scalp that he would forfeit freedom for its sake. He did not, however, believe that her hanging off the end of his hair would do anything more than pull them both out and onto the ground in a splatter. If that was possible.

When he explained the extent of the situation, Jester went quiet, thoughtful frown lines appearing.

“Hmm,” she said, “I suppose we’ll just have to find a way to anchor your feet down.”

That was all she’d taken away?

“And if my hair falls out?” he asked.

“Then I’ll fall and die, I guess,” she said with a shrug. “Better than being trapped in this dark and stinky tower though, let’s go!”

He considered her, trapped forever alongside him (or killed when Ikathon returned). It was not a difficult decision.

“Okay. Let’s try it.”

Jester only made the odd comment about his filth as she braided his long hair into a single plait. “This’ll make it stronger,” she said, “Like a rope.” He didn’t know enough about the similarities between hair and rope to comment, but it did seem clever on her part. “And then we can find you somewhere nice to wash yourself.” Before she finished, she threaded in the thick, bedsheets, tying both the top and bottom sheet together and attempting to secure both joints with ribbons from her dress.

It did not take her longer than ten minutes and although he knew it was either going to fail or succeed, that there was little extra precaution to be taken, he wished desperately for some more preamble before the main event.

“How does this feel?” she asked, yanking at the end of their makeshift rope.

“It feels like someone’s pulling my hair out.”

“Well that sounds about right. Your foot feel secure?”

Caleb glanced down at the place where she’d tied a third and final ribbon around both his ankle and the leg of the table. It was as secure as it was going to be.

“I suppose,” he said.

“Okay, let’s give it a go.”

There was a defeated apprehension which underlined her previously positive tone. It was somehow a comfort to know she was not as entirely optimistic as she seemed, though he did not know why.

Without any further ado, she clambered onto the window ledge, bottom sheet clutched firmly to her chest, and jumped.

The pain was bearable. Not pleasant, but compared to his nightmares, to the experiments, to the pangs of hunger, it was very much bearable.

“You okay?” she called up.

“Yes, please hurry.”

The table had been dragged behind Caleb towards the open window, but it’s size, along with Caleb’s firm hands planted on the wall beneath, kept anything more than his head from being pulled outside.

He felt her swing once, twice, then a third time before-

“Ha!” she cried as the glittering grappling hook appeared once more, rooting itself firmly on the windowsill and narrowly missing Caleb’s nose. Mercifully, she released the sheet almost immediately, swinging down from the hook to the grass beneath.

He could not quite believe it, but blinking did not dispel the image of her, beaming up at him from the forest floor.

“Caleb, climb down!” she cried. “It’ll disappear soon.”

There was not enough time. He needed more time. There was nothing to pack. He needed to leave.

“Caleb!”

Shaking himself out of the dazing panic and untying the ribbon from his ankle, Caleb shifted to straddle the windowsill. He did not have much faith in his upper body strength, but the golden glow of the rope was so inviting. Too inviting. He tugged and it held. He lowered himself from the window. And it held. And his bare feet hit damp grass.

The air in his lungs was the same air he’d been breathing for fifteen years, but it was different somehow. It was gentler. Cleaner even. It made him feel lightheaded to have it beating at him from every angle. And, no, it wasn’t beating, but it the gentle and clean forest breeze was too gentle. Too clean.

“Oh, man.” He heard Jester at his side and watched her dispel the grappling hook. “I seriously thought you were gonna fall.”

It wasn’t real. Not just the forest, but the taste of freedom. Caleb turned to look at Jester who looked back with expectant, indigo eyes.

She must have read something in his expression because she added, hastily, “I mean, I would have caught you! I wouldn’t have just let you go splat on the ground.”

He replayed those words in an echoing imitation of Astrid’s voice. Ikathon was a master of breaking and rebuilding people. He was a master, too, of cruelty, and delivering Caleb’s first and only love in the guise of a saving grace was nothing compared to tricking his students into mat and patricide.

“I wouldn’t have!” she reiterated, misreading his face once more.

Every twitch of her nose, bat of her eyelid, and even furrow of her brow was so very un-Astrid though. It might have been over fifteen years since he’d last seen her, but forgetting was not one of Caleb’s strong suits. Astrid would be a poetic addition to whatever this was. Test or torture. Trent Ikathon liked to combine the two. He was not, however, a poet. Astrid would also be a risk. It would be better to send a stranger in disguise than an ex-lover. It was gentler, but cleaner that way.

Jester continued to study him, but her mouth stayed clamped shut. Perhaps she was running over the intelligence she’d been given. Perhaps she was waiting for her next cue.

Well, this was her script, not his.

“Sorry,” he said, hearing how small his voice sounded beyond the confines of the tower. “I’d forgotten the feeling of grass between my toes.”

Her face fell. “Oh, Caleb. That’s really sad.”

“Ja, that’s me. Sad down to my toes.” Something that might have been pity smoothed out her frown and, his stomach turning at the sight of it, Caleb continued, “So where next?”

“Well, I’d say that next should be a shoe shop, but I didn’t see one on my way in.”

* * *

Jester didn’t know what more she could do to make him laugh. Or smile. Or even to get his shoulder fall and relax for a second. One flash of a second. Instead he kept giving her that hard look she couldn’t quite figure out. She recognised disappointment and mistrust but neither of those things made sense when she had just  _ rescued _ the guy. And maybe that was the problem. He’d been away from people for so long he’d forgotten how to be a person. Even she herself, mostly resigned to her room, had gotten to run free in the gardens when Blude was free to keep an eye.

“How about we get out of the forest first,” she said. “That seems like a good place to start.”

“Freedom, then shoes and,” he broke off to breathe deeply, “Then what”

“I don’t know! There’s nowhere you wanna get back to?”

There was venom in his glare as he muttered, “Not anymore.”

Like that was something she should have just known. He was beginning to get under her skin, shifting her insides until everything scratched against bone. A prince indeed. The Traveler had pulled a grand trick on her alright. If it hadn’t been such an artful pulling of the rug from beneath her feet she’d have been annoyed at him too.

“Let’s go then,” she said. “It’s getting cold. And you’re not wearing any shoes. Oh, but first!” A snort escaped her as she noticed that, at the end of his dirty ginger hair, the dirty bedsheets were still tied. “Let me.”

Pulling out her hand axe, she cut right through the worst of his split ends, and the bottom few inches of his hair.

“You can cut more off,” he said.

“What? No! It’s so pretty.” He gave her a disbelieving look and she added, “I mean, it will be when it’s clean. Maybe that’ll be step three. Or even step one because you still smell pretty bad.”

Caleb remained surly as she led him through the trees. No matter how many jokes she made about his appearance or personal hygiene. And if it was difficult to get a reaction from her prince charming, it proved even more difficult to find the exact path she’d taken to reach him in the first place. All the while the air grew colder. It must have been close to morning when her legs began to shake.

“Okay. I think we need to sleep,” she said. “Unless you think something in here will come and eat us?” Caleb just shrugged. “Would stopping be a bad idea?”

“You’ve spent more time out here than I have,” he said.

“You’re making this a lot harder than it needs to be, you know?”

“I’m at the mercy of your whims.”

“Fine,” she sighed. “I guess we’ll stop and sleep then.”

He shrugged once more and settled down against a nearby fallen trunk. The bark must have pressed uncomfortably into his back, she thought, but with his chin on his chest, Caleb fell into a fast sleep.

“Okay then,” she said to no one.

Pulling her bag off of her shoulders, Jester searched for her bedroll and blanket. It was hard to find a soft place to spread everything out, but even the act of getting ready to sleep had weighed down her eyelids. Twigs wouldn’t stop her from resting as the sun began to rise. The only thing that gave her real discomfort was the thought that she should have packed the dirty sheets into her backpack. To give Caleb something to keep warm with. That flickering of regret was the last thought she mustered before sleep took hold.

When she awoke, the world was bright. It must have been midday at least and she suddenly wondered how she’d slept for so long on such uncomfortable ground. Not to mention with the bellowing snores coming from Caleb, still hunched against his trunk just a few feet away.

“Caleb,” she called. Softly as though she didn’t want to wake him. Which, she realised quickly, was crazy. Louder then, “Caleb!”

He started awake.

“It’s late. I think,” she said. “I mean. Late in the day. Not late at night.”

“I can see that.”

“We should probably get moving, right? Like, this is the part of the story where a monster ambushes us.”

He had been halfway to standing but he paused, awkwardly, crouching and staring.

“What?” she demanded.

“You are very strange,” he said finally, straightening up.

“Really? Coming from you, Caleb?”

“I never said I wasn’t strange.”

Jester took him in. The whole of him. From impossibly long hair to bare, mud-stained feet. Dirt also riddled across his face and jammed under his fingernails. Details she hadn’t fully seen in the dim tower. Beneath that scraggly beard, however, and the dirt that sat too comfortably to be from the morning’s rest, was a sharp jaw and a strong chin.

“We should clean you up,” she said.

“What’s the point? I’ll just get dirty again traipsing around this forest.”

Patience wearing thin, Jester dropped to her knees and made herself busy with rolling and folding. The forest floor, too, looked different in the daylight. What had felt like twigs looked closer to copper and, when she turned to look, the bark of the tree Caleb had spent the night against was smooth.

“What’s up with this place?” she asked.

“It’s an arcane laboratory.”

“Right. Super normal.”

“Not really.”

“Traveler,” she called out. “Are you seeing this shit?”

“Who are you talking to?” said Caleb.

She shushed him and closed her eyes, as though that might make it easier to pick up any whisperings on the wind. Half a minute passed before she gave up. It was fine. Expected even. The Traveler so rarely showed himself in mixed company and Caleb was an exceptional mood dampener. Instead she tried to remember what little information the Traveler had given her. A forest in a forest was the phrasing he’d used. Whatever that meant.

“Never mind,” she said. “Let’s just go.”

Her memory led them through the fake forest with its very real dirt. Caleb had not been wrong about that particular aspect. It was difficult to worry about the hem of her skirt, though, when her eyes got caught on every unnatural branch they ducked beneath. Some were as smooth as Caleb’s tree had been, others were cracked and resembled scales while a few seemed to only exist from a distance and disappeared upon approach. Copper wire was scattered here and there like autumn leaves, amongst other materials she recognised but could not put a name to.

“What does all this stuff do?”

“I don’t know. I’m not exactly the Academy’s number one confidant.”

“This all belongs to the Academy?”

Jester gazed up and around, half-expecting a second sun to shine a light on the situation. It still looked the same as it had done for the past few hours. And it was getting dark again. It had taken her an hour at most to reach Caleb’s tower from the tree line and no, she wasn’t incredible with directions, but it had been a pretty straight-forward journey. It didn’t make sense that there was still only thicket around them.

* * *

They were lost. Or that was the act anyway.

“What do you know about the Academy?” he pressed.

“Oh, nothing really.”

He didn’t know why catching her out in a lie even felt like a possibility, let alone a help. If she was who he believed her to be then no amount of needling would spring an information leak. He just couldn’t see the purpose of the charade. If Trent was testing him then why not fake a military coup or a natural disaster? One bright blue rescuer with a pink backpack who spoke to the air? It was ridiculous. He was ridiculous for following.

“I mean,” she continued. His ears twitched in anticipation, in a naïve belief that the more pieces of the puzzle he collected the closer he would be to solving it. “Some of my mum’s clients are from the Empire. I’ve heard them mention it. Especially the more important ones. They like to brag about how connected they are, you know? I guess I didn’t realise how much of a brag it was. If this whole thing is the Academy’s doing, I mean.”

“It is.”

“Shit, man. Well, that explains a lot. I thought those guys were just super proud to be giving back to schools.”

The puzzle pieces fell hard and fast upon him and he found himself even less certain of the picture they were supposed to make when fit together.

“Wait,” he said. She stopped in her tracks. “No, you can keep moving, I just meant wait before saying anything else.”

“Well, that’s on you. You should have been clearer.”

“Your mom works with the Academy?”

“Oh, no. I mean, her clients don’t even really work with the Academy. Mostly. I think. I don’t know, that’s kind of the least interesting part of eavesdropping.”

“What’s the more interesting part?”

“Oh, when they talk all about their sad little hearts and how nobody truly understands them or whatever. It’s so funny. Especially because they think my mom’s the only one who can hear them.” She laughed. “And they always think they’re problems are super unique.”

“Your mother is a therapist?”

“Kind of. I guess. I never thought about it like that before.”

“So she’s kind of a therapist but mostly she does other things?”

“Well, mostly it’s the,” breaking off, she made a peculiar humming noise, “But it’s also singing. And therapy I guess.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t understand. What is this,” and he broke off to imitate her humming as best he could, “Noise?”

“It’s sex. She has sex with men and they give her money. Or jewels. Or both.”

“So she’s a courtesan?”

“Oh. Yes. That’s the word. Yeah, she’s a courtesan.”

“That’s fascinating.” And he meant it. “You know, we don’t have such rich culture or arts here in the Empire.”

“I can believe that. I mean, I haven’t seen much of it, but it seems to mostly be mud and experiments.”

“That is accurate.”

Perhaps it was the clean air, but he believed her story. At least in part. If she was an agent of the Academy, she was not harvested from Empire soil. He started to construct a tale of woe in his mind, of how her mother had fallen ill and the courtesan life had become unsustainable. Desperate to save her, Jester had accepted the offer of an old Academy client. Maybe she didn’t even know the extent of her role in the Academy’s games. She might have been told simply to rescue a long lost student. Or a long lost prince. Or maybe everything about her was as real as the trees curling about them as they pushed through, only to find more forest and no sign of escaping it.

Just ahead of him, she skipped in time to the rhythm of her own humming. He didn’t know what any of it meant.

They continued to walk for hours. He said nothing and she muttered beneath her breath every so often. Living in one room for almost half his life had cultivated an incredible degree of patience, but there were only so many times he could watch her stop dead in her tracks, speak to herself, and then dart off in a new, seemingly random direction.

North. North-East. West. South. East. East. A complete circle around to the west again. 

“I thought you knew the way,” he said.

She spun on her heel and he saw fury in her face. 

“I never said I knew the way!” she cried. “But it’s not like you’ve been super helpful either.”

“We are going in circles.”

“Well, why don’t you take us in a straight line then?”

“I can do that much. I’m good at directions.”

Her expression grew, if possible, more furious.

“Why didn’t you say anything before?” she demanded. “Look at how dirty my skirt is and I haven’t seen any water anywhere. And it’s getting dark again.”

Fury folded quickly into despair, he saw. Her crossed arms hugged tightly against her own chest and the dust was heavy beneath her nails. 

So it was up to him, was it? To see them out? It seemed like a poor test if it was one. 

“Do you remember the direction you entered from?” he asked, as gentle as his own frustration would allow. 

“Well, yeah, I came in from the Empire. That’s west, right? I mean East is Xhorhas and south is Nicodranas and - wait - what’s North?”

With a shallow sigh, Caleb said, “But do you know where in the Empire you entered from? Or even where in the Empire we are now? Just… generally?”

“What, you don’t know where your own tower is?”

“Not really.” He recognised pity again and spoke on, “I have been made to believe it is far from Rexxentrum.”

“Which is… the capital?”

“Ja,” he said, trying to fathom someone having such little understanding of either the Academy or the city it controlled. “Ja, that’s where I’m from. Sort of.”

“So you do have a home to go back to.”

“No.”

He hoped his tone alone expressed the extent to which that particular line of conversation was over. He did not have the energy to expand. 

“Okay, well, I was on my way to Trostenwald,” she said. “Do you know where that is?”

“South. Near the border.”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve never been, but I’ve seen it on a map. Which direction did you go from there?”

“Well, I didn’t actually get there. I was on my way.”

“Well, which direction did you go from being on the way?”

“Right.”

He sighed a little deeper and asked, “Do you know what way you were facing when you turned right?”

“Oh!” she said. “Oh. Sorry. I came up from the south so probably north. I think. Almost definitely.”

“Then we should go west.”

“Which is?”

“Forwards.”

“So I was taking us in the right direction?” She wriggled her eyebrows and a smile caught him so off guard that he barely managed to fight it off. “Come on then. Follow me. I totally know the way.”

He found no fault in her walking. It was as straight as the trees allowed. The problem was that his idea of north kept curving, circling back to behind them and ahead of them, spinning west around until the stars appeared.

“I guess we’re sleeping here another night,” she said, throwing down her backpack with a huff. “I must have really fucked up, huh? I got us so lost.”

“I don’t think it’s your fault.”

“No? How come?”

“I’ve been running over it for the past hour or so. We’re moving in a straight line, but the forest is shifting around us.”

“What do you mean? How can it shift? Wouldn’t we feel it?”

“I’m not sure, but it might explain why you were able to reach me so easily. It could be like a venus fly trap, there’s a way in but not out.”

“What? So we’re just like... stuck?” 

Her voice jumped up to a warbling, lip-trembling pitch and he felt himself pulled due north by it. He tried not to meet her eye. While north had swung back and forth around them, Jester’s identity had done the same in his mind. He was ashamed of his coldness as much as he was ashamed of the fool she had made of him. Better to be safe than sorry, he thought. Better to just hate himself for either possibility. Just in case. 

Caught between apologising and wrangling a confession from her, he was almost glad for the sudden shaking of the ground.

“Is that the forest shifting?” she asked.

It shook again and they both tumbled.

Catching his breath and the spot between her eyes, he said, “I think we might have noticed that earlier.”

Confirmation came in the form of a giant, blundering toad-like creature. Almost a man, but with a wildness to his eyes.

Jester was up before him, clutching at her belt and whispering. In a flash of familiar glitter, she summoned an object. Not a grappling hook this time, but a giant pink lollipop instead. Whatever pieces of the puzzle Caleb had begun to fit together fell into much smaller, inscrutable pieces.

“Are you a nice frog?” she asked.

The monster leapt forwards and, with a bellowing war cry from Jester, the lollipop flew into action. Caleb knew he had been staring at the same walls for some time, but this would have been a spectacle for anyone. To watch a giant toad and a giant lollipop trade blows. Perhaps realising that the candy was not his true enemy, the monster swiped at Jester. She raised the small shield at her side in vain. His fist cracked against her skull.

“Jester!” he cried.

She did not fall though and the steel of her gaze and posture inspired him to try something he’d thought long lost to him. The feel of fire was oddly welcome against his open palm. It was a small flame, but he was relieved at even that flicker of success. Of course, when he directed a blast, it missed the monster by a good few feet. Closer than he’d dreamed of getting.

Unfortunately, he’d drawn rather a great deal of attention to himself and when the fist met his skull, his body proved to be made of much weaker stuff than Jester’s. The copper-cluttered ground was a welcome hit against his knees as dark clouds crowded his vision.

* * *

Caleb was down. Caleb was down. Caleb was down.

Which meant she was alone. Which meant she would soon be down. And that giant frog man thing would have them for dinner. Frogs were supposed to be small, supposed to turn into princes after a single, slimy kiss. Nothing that should be a prince was a prince, she was beginning to learn. At least in the forest that wasn’t a forest. 

“Shit. Shit. Shit,” she breathed. “Shit.”

The monster turned back to face her and she couldn’t quite see if Caleb was still breathing. 

“Caleb!” she called out, knowing there would be no reply.

All the while, the monster grew closer, raised its fist higher. She blocked his swings this time, just barely, and tried to remember the most dangerous trick the Traveler had taught her. 

Steadily as she could, Jester guided a bolt of divine energy right into its stomach. A great gargle resounded through the air and she took that as a good sign. It didn’t last, though. She had to duck another attack. And another. And she kept swinging wide with her lollipop. Breath ragged, she darted into the shadow and pressed her back flat against an unfortunately scaly trunk.

“Okay, okay, okay.”

Heavy footsteps grew louder and she knew the tree would do little to shield her. Close to spent and with just enough energy for one last big hit, she needed to steady herself. For just a second. For just one last breath before leaning and aiming.

With a terrible shriek, the monster fell. Just like Caleb.

“Caleb,” she gasped, rushing to his side.

He was still breathing, but no matter how much she shook his shoulder, he didn’t wake. If she hadn’t expended herself on that stupid frog she’d have been able to heal him up nicely. It would take time to learn balance, to be able to do the really cool stuff. The Traveler was going to teach her. At the right time.

“Is it time yet?” she asked the air.

Knowing she didn’t have time to wait for a reply, Jester held out her hand and stabilised Caleb. It was the best she could do. Not good enough, but better than death, she supposed. He was warm and alive, yet she still felt very much alone with the monster corpse. And very much bored. She wondered if the frog guy had anything interesting on him. A half-hearted search turned up a few rings and, after she’d wiped the mucus away, she thought they looked rather nice on her fingers.

She was just admiring how the moonlight hit the jewels when Caleb let out a pained groan.

“You’re awake!” she chirped. He blinked which she took to mean he was listening. “So I killed the frog guy thing, no thanks to you, and I found these rings, see,” she wiggled her fingers before him, “And then I totally saved your life again so you’re welcome.”

With another groan, he sat up and said, “I’m sorry.”

Perhaps he hadn’t been listening after all.

“I said, I killed the frog guy thing,” she began, breaking off at the sight of his raised hand.

“I heard. I meant that I was sorry for not helping.”

“Oh. Oh, that’s fine. I mean, you did your best. I think. I bet you’re a little out of practice, huh?”

With a faint smile, he said, “Just a little.” Some of the weight fell away from her heart and she smiled back. “Hey, Jester, do you think, though, that we can move away from the giant corpse?”

Sleep did not come as easily as it had done the night before. Her sore muscles begged for rest, but they were drowned out by Caleb’s unsteady snores. She’d never seen anyone so close to death before. And she’d certainly never been responsible for keeping them from death. 

He looked more princely asleep; less annoyed. The plait she’d put into his long hair had almost entirely fallen loose and it was difficult not to reach out and redo it. The darkness distorted that part of him too. His expression was soft beneath moonlight and his hair looked a lot less dirty than it had under the sun. 

She had to wonder, too, how she looked. It had been days since her last wash and, no matter how hard she strained her ears, there were no rushings of water to be found. When dreaming did come, her dreams told tales of baths that drowned her, of a tempting lake hiding more frog beasts. The Traveler did not visit.

Jester was pulled to waking by a steady stream of, “Jester,” from Caleb. 

She groaned and pulled her blanket over her head only to expose her feet to the elements. 

“You took your shoes off?” he asked.

Tossing the blanket completely off of her, she said, “You don’t even have any shoes.”

“I just thought you’d be cold.”

“I don’t really feel the cold. I just like to be comfy.”

“Well, it’s getting late and we should get going,” he said. He sounded almost bored. “I’d rather not drag this out any longer than needed.”

“Can you give me a moment? I’m pretty tired from fighting off a giant frog all by myself.”

It was so quick that she wasn’t certain it hadn’t been a trick of the light, but she could have sworn he rolled his eyes. Whatever weight he’d lifted from her heart the night before, he was happily piling it right back on.

As she laced her boots, she asked, “So, have you come up with a plan to get out of here? Or is everything still up to me?”

Her voice betrayed irritation and that fact alone irritated her further. She liked mornings. And afternoons. And evenings and nights. But that morning felt far too much like the one she’d faced the day before. She couldn’t bear any of it anymore. Not the trees, not the twigs, and especially not Caleb looking at her like-

“It’s like you hate me,” she said.

“I don’t hate you,” he said, a look of genuine confusion beneath the dirt and hair.

“You act like you do.” For a moment, the only sound was the tugging on her laces. Much harder than needed. “I’ve saved your life twice and you just act like I’m a pain in the butt.” He nodded slowly, loose strands of hair falling over his face. Perhaps he was thinking carefully before responding, but impatience won out. “I just don’t understand, you know, what I’ve done wrong.”

He laughed without any humour and said, “You know, this conversation might be the longest you’ve gone without commenting on how badly I smell. Maybe I’ve been rude, but you’ve been plenty rude back.”

“But it’s like you don’t even trust me and I  _ saved  _ you!”

“Ja, that’s why I don’t trust you.”

“You don’t make any sense.”

He shrugged and, with a small smile, said, “Look around us. Nothing here makes sense.”

“So you’re part of the forest now? Were you also made by the Academy?” It was a challenge. Only said to prove how stupid he was being. He didn’t budge on anything, though, not even his little smile. “Well, if you make as little sense as you think you do then maybe you can figure out how to get us out of here.”

“Maybe.”

“Also,” she said, unable to help herself. “You do smell pretty bad.”

Caleb just sighed.

* * *

She was right. Even in her cruelty, she had never been unfair, had she? He was just spitting at his own reflection.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

And he did, truly mean it. If she wasn’t the villain he suspected her of being then his coldness was unfounded. Talking, though, to someone other than Ikathon, he was as out of practice in that as he was in spell-casting.

“I was never very good at being a person,” he laughed. “I don’t think being locked up helped me out in that respect.”

“The world  _ is _ pretty tricky.”

“Ja.”

“And this forest is even trickier. A forest with in a forest, I don’t even know what that means!”

“A forest within a forest? What?”

“That’s what the Traveler told me.”

Caleb’s ears twitched once more. 

“What traveler?” he asked.

A traveler? A contact perhaps? An agent of the Academy who had lured her into a death trap with the promise of a prince? It was awful of him, he knew, but he rather hoped that was the case. He just, desperately, wanted her to be as good as she seemed. And as much as he wanted to, in equal measures, he simply couldn’t bring himself to trust.

“The Traveler,” she repeated. “He’s like, a God, but he’s also my best friend. And you know, he usually shows me the way, but there’s something about this place…” her voice warbled in the same way it had before and it shattered something inside Caleb’s chest to hear, “It’s like he can’t reach me.”

“If he is a God-”

“He is.”

“Well, then it makes sense that your connection’s been weakened by the forest. Gods, especially illegal Gods, don’t have much power here.”

“Illegal? How can a God be illegal?”

Caleb tried to look at her. Really look at her. The puzzle was perplexing, but it wasn’t inconsistent. At least not concerning her.

“The Empire is…” he tried to find the exact phrasing, the right way to explain his home country, before settling on, “Terrible.” She laughed, free and easy. It was nice. It shattered him a little more. He pressed on, “But, the good news is that while you were sleeping, I came up with a plan.”

“You did? Really? That’s amazing.”

The frown on her face he had been responsible for faded into bright grin.

“It will definitely fail,” he said quickly. “But it’s something to try at least.”

“Better to die trying something than to die slowly in this place.” Her smile didn’t fade. “So, what’s this plan?”

The plan was, simply, to walk west. To keep walking west. No matter how many circles they were sent in, he would put his trust in the sky and his instincts. They were all he knew for certain to be untouched by the Academy. It didn’t take long for the compass to spin faster, to turn them backwards one second and back around the next.

“I’m getting dizzy,” said Jester, keeping close behind.

“I think that’s a good sign.”

On and on they spun, to and fro, desperately searching for the outer forest Jester’s supposed God had promised. The scenery, however, did shift for the first time in two days. Before them lay, between impossible trees, an impossible clearing.

“Do you see that?” she cried, pulling closer to his side.

West had run off to the right, but the clearing ahead stayed ahead.

“Let’s move forward,” he said. “Slowly.”

The air between the trees, where the clearing was visible, seemed thick and distorted. It didn’t give off a scent or burn his fingertips when he dared to reach out.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“It looks like gas.”

“Doesn’t gas float off and about?”

“Nothing makes sense here, remember?”

She shrugged and fell quiet until a few steps revealed made the clearing a little clearer. Right there, surrounded by grass and air that was wrong, was a hut. The wooden walls were all mismatched, as though the place got taller and shorter in quick succession. It should have been impossible.

“Do you think there’s a witch in there?” said Jester.

“Why would you say that?”

“Look at it, Caleb! It’s totally a witch’s hut.”

“You have been reading too many stories.”

Jester kept hissing, “Witch, witch, witch,” in his ear.

“I don’t think so.”

“Caleb, look at that hut. That is where a witch lives.”

“Or another monster.”

“Come on! The weird air and the hidden clearing? Totally a witch.”

There was no way something so impossible could exist without the help of some particularly powerful magic.

Still, “People don’t live in this forest,” he said.

“What, your Ikathon guy doesn’t have anyone working for him in here?”

Caleb had to bite his tongue at that. Ikathon kept secrets from his own secrets. Caleb should be no different. Still, magic so often leaves a stamp. This was not Ikathon. It felt foreign. Not academy. Not any sort of magic that Caleb had encountered before. Like something that existed in hypothetical. A potential hut in a potential clearing. A coin in the air that might land either way. If it landed at all.

“Let’s go,” she whispered.

“Wait.”

But she had fled from his side, beyond the reach of a warning hand or word. Some invisible threshold had been crossed and Jester herself had shifted from reality. Or at least the reality as he perceived it.

He closed his eyes and hated himself. It was a familiar taste and he swallowed it as hard as ever. A decision had to be made. It didn’t mean he was submitting to any particular reality. Or even perception of it. With a deep breath, Caleb stepped forwards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please leave a comment or kudos if you enjoyed <3


	3. Caleb's New Clothes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm hoping to keep updating at least once a month! Thank you so much for your patience I hope you enjoy this chapter <3

There were no visible seams between the previous reality and the one Caleb now stood in, but in the space of a step, the world had turned upside down.

He noticed the light first. The clearing had been shadowed in complete darkness, as though the sun had missed a spot in shining that day. All around, the light remained, giving his weak eyes a guiding glow.

What he could see of the hut had grown, stretched in the places it had been impossible before and somehow becoming more impossible in turn. What had been false in the landscape, too, was changed. Perhaps it was just a visage, perhaps if he reached out to touch a nearby trunk it would be metallic beneath his fingertips. But when the breeze rustled the leaves, his senses were struck by the unmistakable smell of nature. How he remembered it at the very least. It wasn’t just the clearing either. Every inch of the visible forest looked alive. It was breathing along with him.

Most importantly, Jester too was alive and standing beside him.

She breathed out a lilting laugh and said, “A forest within a forest. A forest within a forest!”

“Jester,” he said, “Please be very careful.”

Her eyes were wide as she stumbled forwards, as though pulled by an invisible thread through the naval.

“Jester!” he hissed.

With steps as small as he could manage while remaining within grabbing distance of her elbow, he let the darkness swallow him. He tried to blink his sight back, but only silhouettes were clear; the rickety shape of the hut; the sway of Jester’s skirt. She had stilled.

Voice low as he could muster, he repeated, “Jester!”

“Shhh,” she replied, pulled him close. He kicked his leg up over what he thought was a root and turned out to be his own shadow. “I think there’s someone inside.”

“I’m sure there is.”

“Witch.”

With a shrug and a sigh, he said, “Whatever is in there, we should do our best to avoid it and them, ja?”

“But it might be the way out.”

“Or it might be a death trap.”

“That’s what you said about jumping out the window and look at us, totally still alive!”

“So you wanna go knock on the door?” he asked.

A crack, like wood split by a raging fire, sounded behind them. Caleb jumped and Jester must have too, because he felt her grab at his arm. They turned and saw nothing changed from before.

“No need to knock,” came a voice from their new behind, calling, it sounded, from the hut. “You already rang the doorbell.”

“I don’t think we did,” said Jester, spinning back around.

Caleb did not want to turn, but Jester’s firm grasp pulled him with her.

Yellow light backlit a tall wide shouldered shape in the doorway. “Oh, but you did. You crossed into my forest. That set of the bells,” they said.

“Smart,” said Jester. “There’s some scary shit around here. We already met one gross toad guy.”

Caleb cleared his throat, averted his eyes, and called out, “We are terribly sorry to have intruded. If you could just direct us to the exit then-”

“Are you a witch?” asked Jester, cutting across.

He imagined a predatory grin upon the stranger’s face as they answered, “Why don’t you come on in and we’ll talk about it?”

Caleb made to take a step backwards and away, but found the heel of his foot hit some kind of barrier. Before he could panic, the barrier pushed against both him and Jester, stopping only when they had been thrown to their knees at the stranger’s feet. Caleb looked up, his long hair curtained over his face. Between strands of dirty ginger, he saw the stranger’s face, lit up in proximity to the light from within.

A female orc stared down at them, up there in years judging by the wisps of grey in her wild hair. One of her large tusks curled right up against her upper lip, giving her grin an even more unsettling slant than he had imagined. Hands on wide hips, she asked, “Now, what do we have here?”

“Oh, hi,” said Jester, smiling back and batting her eyelids. Caleb’s stomach turned. Between the blue lady beside him and the green lady above him, he was doomed. “I’m Jester and this is Caleb. What’s your name?”

“Professor Waccoh,” she said.

Jester began to push herself up slowly. “Well, it’s very nice to meet you.”

“Don’t be shy,” said Waccoh. “I’d rather have this conversation inside.”

Caleb stood as quickly as he was capable. The fact that the stranger had offered her name did not comfort him. That was the act of a person without concern, who saw no threat. To stand a chance at surviving, it would do well for them to obey.

Jester continued her slow ascent, legs shaking beneath her as she trembled upright.

“I’m really sorry,” said Jester. “I think you might have broken my body when you pushed us down. I can only move an inch a minute.”

“Jester, please,” he hissed.

She set her big indigo eyes on him. If his voice had not betrayed his desperation, then something in his face was enough to convince her. She righted herself without any further misbehavior. Waccoh wandered inside. There was really no point to testing an escape, but he could not follow without first placing his hand behind his back and slapping at the air. The barrier remained.

As they entered, Jester whispered, “Witch.”

Caleb still wasn’t sold. The Professor was something, he knew, but the arcane in the atmosphere seemed to sit around her rather than emanate from her.

The door slammed behind them and they found themselves shut inside a room so cluttered that it was difficult to even begin taking any corner of it in. Machinery whirred, glass vials bubbled, and pots steamed upon every surface. Scraps of pipe and gems were scattered between them, weighing down piles of parchment.

“What is this place?” he asked.

“My laboratory,” replied the professor, taking a seat behind what he realised was, beneath all the clutter, a desk. “The real question is who sent you here and why did they not prepare you? Empire spies usually get further than the entrance before I catch them.”

“Oh, no, we’re not spies,” said Jester. “I’m not even from the Empire. I’m from Nicodranas.”

“I don’t understand,” said Caleb, forcing himself to look into Waccoh’s face, to read her reaction. Her smile softened, becoming less of a threat and closer to pity. “You are not with the Empire?”

With a snort, Waccoh asked, “My dear boy, do I look like I’m with the Empire?”

Caleb did not know why he had been winded. There was nothing about the professor, nor her lab, that spoke of an Empire operation. His eyes travelled the clutter and found scraps of Assembly robes, of Crown’s Guard armor, of bone. A startling amount of bone. A pile of skeletons, even, against the back wall.

“This is Empire territory though,” he tried to reason; with himself as much as her.

“Is that so?” said Waccoh. “If that’s the case then how am I here?”

“This forest,” he said firmly. “Is the property of the Assembly. Of Trent Ikithon.”

At Trent’s name, Waccoh spat onto the floor. “Ikithon has grand ideas, to be sure, but in twenty years he’s not been able to take more than a slither of this forest from the Dynasty. It’s ours.”

The world truly had been turned upside down.

* * *

Jester wanted very much to ask what this ‘Dynasty’ was, but she did not want to seem stupid in front of both Caleb and a Professor. After all, she barely knew anything about the Empire. Broaching the subject would only betray her ignorance. So she sat on any questions and watched Waccoh rise from her chair, circle the desk, and produce an eyepiece from her cleavage. It looked like the kind of miniature telescope Jester had seen jewelers use to appraise gems. Though when Waccoh strapped this particular piece to her eye and twisted the end towards Caleb’s face, Jester saw that it was quite a bit longer than any scope she’d seen used.

As Waccoh got closer to Caleb, Jester found it harder and harder to keep herself silent. Caleb stayed so still while Waccoh inspected him, from head to bare toes, that Jester worried for a moment that she had cast some wicked spell on him. But then Waccoh stepped back and Caleb’s shoulders fell a little slack.

“You don’t look Empire either,” said Waccoh. “But you smell of it.”

“Okay, yes,” said Jester, unable to help herself, “Caleb is a little stinky, but if it’s the Empire that he smells like, then that’s the Empire’s fault not his!”

Waccoh gave them a skeptical look as she slumped back into her chair. 

Caleb spoke out with no intonation, gaze cast to the floor “I believe my blue friend here means that I am a victim of the Empire. Rather than an agent.”

“Yeah!” agreed Jester hastily. “They had him locked up in a tower and I mean, look at him, they were not taking good care of him. I mean, he doesn’t even have shoes!”

“So now taking off your shoes is enough to prove your innocence?” said Waccoh. “Listen, unless you give me a reason to believe you, some token of proof, then I’m going to have to add you to the pile” With a nod, she gestured to the skeletons stacked by the wall.

Jester turned to look at Caleb, panicked and pleading. Caleb, however, was smiling. It was small and sad, but a smile all the same.

“Professor,” he said. “I have nothing on me. But I cannot believe you have no means for interrogation in this laboratory of yours.”

“None that would be free to expend. It would be cheaper and easier for me to add you to the pile.”

“And yet we are still having this conversation.”

“What can I say?” she said, grinning widely, tusk pressing in impossibly further and yet drawing no blood. “It gets lonely out here.”

“I think you can see how unusual we are. I think you know there is a story here and, more importantly, that it is one you can turn to your advantage.”

“Besides,” said Jester, desperate to cut through the mounting tension as much as she was determined not to end up on the pile. “I’ve got money if you need money. Like, not just on me, but at home, with my mama, she’s kind of famous. And I also have a horse who’s wearing some pretty expensive custom clothing that we could trade for a pretty penny.”

“Where is this horse?” asked Caleb.

“Oh, just like, waiting for me at the edge of the forest.”

Caleb and Waccoh shared an uncomfortable look that she could not help but feel was about her. “You guys! Yarnball is fine!”

“I’m sure he is,” said Waccoh. “Horses are sturdy. Good at running away from things.”

Jester folded her arms tightly across her chest and huffed, feeling, if possible, even less fond of this Professor Waccoh than she had before.

“Professor, we are not here to waste your time,” said Caleb. “If you want proof that I hold no love for the Empire then cast a spell, give me a potion, spin an orb; use whatever clever thing you have lying around to extract truth from people before you finish them off. I will tell you everything I know about the Empire, their Academy, and its master Trent Ikithon I won’t resist.”

Waccoh’s grin spread to her eyes.

“Me neither,” said Jester hastily. “I won’t resist. I don’t even know who this Trent guy is except that Caleb is obsessed with him.”

Caleb cleared his throat. “Why don’t we save our discussions of Master Ikithon for the interrogation?”

“You’re a cocky little thing aren’t you?” said Waccoh. “Well, then, let’s get to it. Follow me.”

One of the few doors leading out of the room flew open without any obvious trigger. It was through this door that Waccoh lead them.

Only one lamp lit this room, and there were far fewer items to feast their eyes upon. Although there was a lot more dust. There was the odd wooden chests of drawers, along with a single wardrobe and a rickety bed frame upon which was a mess of stained and torn sheets. It was strikingly similar to Caleb’s tower room with an important difference. One she couldn’t quite put her finger on. She ran her hand along the nearest chest of drawers and received a fistful of cotton-like dust.

“I fall asleep at my desk most nights,” said Waccoh, eye fixed on Jester’s hands.

Realising that she would not get away with messing with anything else, not for the time being anyway, she shoved her hands into the pocket of her skirt and waited.

Waccoh perched on the edge of her bed and waved a hand towards the floor. “Sit down.”

Jester skipped over and plopped herself down, legs crossed. Caleb lowered himself onto his knees beside her, leaving what seemed to her a purposeful distance. Feeling a cold stab of vulnerability, she shuffled a little closer. Just enough for comfort.

“Alright now, I’ll know if you resist,” said Waccoh.

Caleb nodded. “Ja. I know.”

“Of course,” said Jester, not having known that at all. Not that she was going to resist. Not that she, of all people, had anything to hide.

Waccoh reached under the mattress, retrieving a half-burnt candlestick and a matchbox. “Ready?” she asked, striking the match. “It’ll feel a little uncomfortable, but don’t try to fight it. Or I’ll know, okay?”

When the candle was lit, an invisible rushing wave hit. Jester wanted to struggle, wanted to relieve the pressure from her temples, the blinding white pain. And then it was gone. Her mind still felt wrong, but it wasn’t painful. She was almost sleepy. Keeping focussed on the present moment became all she was capable of.

“Very good,” came a voice. Waccoh’s voice. “Now, what are your relationships to the Cerberus Assembly?”

“My mom’s clients sometimes talk about it,” said Jester. “I don’t know much about it myself. I’m not from the Empire. I know Caleb was put in a tower by this Ikithon guy and I know he only had Empire books to keep him company. They seem kind of shitty to me.”

Waccoh turned to Caleb. “You. Tell me about this tower.”

“I do not want there to be any possibility of misunderstanding,” said Caleb. “I was once an Empire agent. I was a prodigy under the mentorship of Master Ikithon. But then I resisted. I was placed in a tower, within this forest, and led to believe that it was the creation of Ikithon and the Assembly. I have spent fifteen years learning to hate the Assembly. To want nothing more than to cure the Empire of the infection that is Ikithon.”

“You care for the Empire?” asked Waccoh.

“It is my home. It was where I was raised, where my parents cared for me as a child. I know there are good people throughout the Empire. I also know that they suffer from the Assembly just as the Dynasty does.”

“So you’re neutral?” said Waccoh. “The both of you?”

“Sure,” said Jester.

Caleb let out a long sigh. “Neutral implies impartial. I am not impartial to the Assembly. Nor to the Empire. I despise one and care for the other. But I hold no animosity towards the Dynasty. I do not know enough about it.”

“Ikithon didn’t teach you all about your fiercest enemy?” said Waccoh.

“I do not believe anything that Ikithon has told me anymore.”

Waccoh leaned as far forwards as possible without falling. “And if I let you go,” she said. “Would you run? Or would you help us take down the Assembly?”

“Do I have a choice?” asked Caleb with a small smile.

“I asked didn’t I?”

Caleb’s smile grew impossibly colder as he said, “I will be fighting the Assembly forever. It is my duty.”

“Will you or will you not help the Dynasty dismantle the Empire’s greatest asset?”

“I will.”

Jester held her breath, wondering if the same would be asked of her. But Waccoh seemed satisfied and blew hard on the candle, extinguishing the flame and clearing their minds.

“These things are expensive,” she said, shoving the stick back under the mattress. “Can’t let them burn too long.”

“What now?” asked Caleb.

“Now, I give you a couple of parting gifts before kicking you out of my house.”

“Alive?” he said.

Waccoh laughed, “Of course alive. You’re not going to be much use to me dead! Not useless, of course, but I’ve got enough bones to be getting on with for the time being.”

Cautiously, Jester asked, “What do you want us to do?”

“I want you to win me a war,” said Waccoh.

“I think,” said Caleb curtly. “That we made it clear we were not interested in harming the Empire. Only the Assembly.”

With a tut and a wave of her hand, Waccoh said, “I don’t expect you to take down the whole Empire citizen by citizen. But take Ikithon out of the picture-” She paused to spit. “And the Assembly crumbles. The Assembly crumbles? Your King scrambles to sign peace treaties. On our terms.” Caleb nodded and swallowed. Jester wanted to protest that she had no interest in any war at all, nor any Assembly, but she had seen the bones in the lab and did not want to assist their accumulation. “This is the best deal you’ll get in your whole life,” said Waccoh firmly. “Now, let’s get this wrapped up. I’m a busy woman.”

* * *

Caleb’s mind was too muddled for him to truly understand how much had changed in ten minutes. He would sit with everything later. There was no time for spiraling now. For now, they must followed Waccoh back into her laboratory and receive their orders. He was trained in following orders, after all. And he did not forget easily. Jester, on the other hand, was a different creature entirely. Even if she was not an Empire agent (and it had become near impossible to reason that she was), that did not mean she was mercenary, that she would happily take up arms against a governing body she had little to no understanding of, let alone held an opinion of.

But she had done enough in saving him. This was not her mantel to take up. As soon as they were free of the forest, and the forest around that one, they would part ways. He couldn’t say he would miss the company. Nor the constant insults.

As Waccoh searched her clutter for their ‘parting gifts’ as she had labelled them, Caleb could not help but study Jester. She stood just slightly in front of him. So that he was out of her line of sight, but the right side of her face was on display. She worried her lower lip between her teeth and the blue in her cheeks had washed out a little. Any person would be frightened in her shoes. He regretted that he had no tools in his arsenal for comfort.

Finally, Waccoh spun around, crying out in victory, two pendants swinging from her grasp.

“Jewelry?” cried Jester, visibly and audibly perking up.

“Sort of,” said Waccoh. Striding over, she offered one to Jester and the second to Caleb. “But they’re not for looking pretty. They’re for staying alive and getting yourself back in the game. You can’t take down the Assembly from in here. Believe me. I’ve tried.”

Incredulous, he asked, “These will lead us out of the forest?”

“And keep you safe from scrying eyes.”

“Oh, wow!” said Jester. “I mean, this is too nice of you.”

Waccoh wagged her finger between them. “It’s not a freebie. I expect them to be put to good use.”

“They will be,” said Caleb, quickly pulling the chain over his head and relishing in the swing of the pendant against his chest.

“Totally,” Jester agreed, doing the same.

“Good,” said Waccoh. “Now get going.”

Caleb had not quite realised how many blisters he’d gotten from walking upon the forest floor barefoot. But there, on the soothingly cold and flat wooden floor, with the prospect of having to traverse many more miles before finding relief, the blisters bit angrily at his nerves.

“The Empire spies,” said Caleb slowly. “I noticed you keep scraps of their clothing. You wouldn’t happen to have anything whole left, would you? Perhaps a pair of shoes? Or a coat?”

“Oh, no, Caleb,” pleaded Jester from over his shoulder.

But Waccoh had already gotten up and ventured towards a tall, lidded wicker basket in the corner.

“I keep them for scraps usually. Binding wounds or putting out fires. Patching up holes in my coat. There’s a lot of material in there though. You can take your pick of what’s still in one piece. Or several pieces. I really don’t care either way.”

“Thank you,” said Caleb fervently, joining her and beginning to rummage.

“Caleb, please, let me buy you new clothes, okay? Ones that aren’t from dead people.”

“I will gladly take you up on that,” said Caleb as he continued his search. “But until then, I am happy to wear the dead people clothes.”

He pulled out a musty brown coat, a scraggly blue scarf, and a pair of surprisingly intact military grade boots. There were no socks, but the leather of the boots had been worn in enough that it would be gentler to wear them than to continue barefoot. They were a little tight anyway, he reasoned. Socks would have bulked out his feet too much.

Jester watched on the whole time he dressed, a look of disgust upon her face. He paid it as little mind as he could, tying his laces while Waccoh continued to explain, “The pendant will get you through the barriers, but I’ll need to turn on the water for you to stay on course.”

“Like, sprinklers or something?” asked Jester.

“Or something. Watch yourself, it’ll be heavy.”

Caleb watched, but was unsure what exactly he was watching for. The natural light was welcome, as they stepped out, standing in darkness first, pushing on towards the day. Towards the place where the world had turned upside down. Though they could not see the barrier, it was clear when they passed it. The world went back to metal, to Master Ikithon, to Empire. Reality had righted itself and made Caleb dizzy.

“Are you alright?” asked Jester.

“Ja. Of course,” he said.

He must have shown something of his sickness in his expression. Before she could question his deflection, the heavens opened and rain began to fall. Hard.

Caleb darted beneath the nearest tree canopy, the raindrops beating against the copper leaves above and letting the odd spray of water through. It was freezing to touch.

“Oh, shit!” cried Jester, clambering over to his side. “Caleb, let me in your coat!”

“You have a cloak.”

“It’s only short!”

He clicked his tongue in irritation but, once firmly settled with his back to the trunk, opened one side of his coat for her to huddle beneath. Jester pressed herself so close she was almost burrowing into his bony chest.

“Oh, it smells really bad in here,” she whined. “Like dead guys and dirty laundry.”

“Well, get out then.”

“No! I’m kidding.”

“Ja, ja, whatever.”

“Caleb!”

He sighed, “I’m not kicking you out of my coat.”

“Oh, Caleb,” she cooed. “You are the perfect gentleman.”

“A real prince charming, ja.”

Jester giggled and he felt her shaking as much as heard her laughing. Once she had finished, she said, “You are a little bit funny, you know?”

He squinted down at her, lips twitching. “Just a little bit?” he asked.

“Yeah, like the tiniest bit.”

“I can live with that.”

The rainfall, though heavy, was short lived. A small groove in the forest floor had filled with water and was rushing fast.

“I think we have to follow the flow of the water,” he said.

“I don’t have any better ideas,” sighed Jester, slipping out of his coat. “Let’s try it.”

Half a day of following the flow did not dampen his spirit. The trees were growing sparser and the ground muddier. It did not seem to be a dead end. He kept hoping.

“Are you sure this is the right way?” asked Jester every hour or so.

“Pretty sure,” he parroted back.

They walked until evening broke. Then walked on for another solid two hours. Just as Caleb was succumbing to the idea of spending yet another night in that damn forest, Jester gasped and grabbed at his arm.

“Caleb,” she breathed. “Caleb, I remember this! This is where I came in!”

“For real?”

“Yeah! Come on!”

She ran ahead and, knowing better than to call her back to his side, Caleb ran after her. The space between trees had grown wide enough to allow for almost unobstructed movement and soon enough they had burst free of the treeline altogether.

“This is it! Caleb, this is where I came in!” she cried, grabbing at his arm again, shaking him and jumping up and down. “We made it out!”

He could not find words. Breathless and joyful beyond comprehension, he simply allowed her to pull him onwards. He could not believe it. The world seemed so wide before him.

“I went past this river!” she said. “We could sleep by here. You could even take a bath.”

A corner of his mind still chalked this entire escape up to Trent’s designs. But, really, he thought, did it matter? If the freedom was real or performative, it was bound to come to an end. The amulet hanging around his neck was cool against his chest. Every other inch of his skin was aflame. Letting himself be reckless, Caleb began to unlace his boots.

* * *

Without hesitation, Caleb peeled every item of clothing from his body, folding and placing them down gently, until he was completely naked in the dim, forest moonlight.

Jester did not know why she wanted to laugh so badly. It wasn’t as though naked men were something she was completely unfamiliar with. But this was the first time the naked man was aware of her spying eyes.

“I can see you butt, Caleb,” she teased.

He shot her a twitch of a smile over his shoulder before leaping and bounding towards the river, plummeting with a splash so great it speckled onto her skirt.

She let out her laugh and, when he resurfaced, she called out, “Okay, well, I’ll just be here burning these stinky dead people clothes.”

“Do not burn my clothes!”

“Oh, no, it’s too late. They’re already gone forever. So sad!”

“Clothes can be washed just as well as I can.”

Sceptical, Jester prodded the pile of brown and muddied cream with the toe of her boot. They were folded immaculately for rags, with a level of care that shattered a small part of her heart. She wouldn’t rid him of them. Not until she got him better ones anyway.

There was a bar of soap in her backpack, she knew, and so she pulled it out before moving far away from the clothes. You know, to remove the temptation of burning them.

With a hop, she was over the pile and a few steps closer to the river. The water shimmered between black and white depending on where Katha’s light shone. Caleb almost shone himself for fractions of seconds. Between being shadow. Between swallowing air and sinking beneath.

Jester perched on the rocks. Just to keep an eye. To make sure, you know, that he came back up as frequently as he went under. Whenever in doubt of his location, she just had to look for the dark swirling stream of his hair, bisecting the river with a thicker flow. After a short time, he simply leant his head back until he was floating completely, nudged downriver, too slowly to cause concern.

“Caleb!” she called out, tongue inclined towards shattering silence. “I can see your dick now.”

He blinked lazily, but did not make any moves to cover himself.

Instead he replied, “You know, you are the one who chose to watch me.”

“Here,” she said. “I brought you a present.”

He opened a single eye at first before seeing the soap and turning to swim towards her.

“You have been holding out!” he cried. “Wait, don’t-”

But it was too late; she had already tossed it. He had to dive to retrieve it after missing spectacularly and did not stall for a second in scrubbing every inch of his body, including his hair. Once he was finished, he chucked the soap back onto the riverside and let himself float again.

Laughing a little, Jester found herself staring at Caleb’s hair. In his current position, crown beneath, but face above, it billowed around like the haloing rays of the sun. Beautiful.

“Will you let me do something with your hair?” she asked.

“Now?”

“When it’s dry.”

“It’s best to cut wet hair.”

She frowned. “You want it cut?”

Opening one eye to fix her with disbelief, he said, “It’s not very practical.”

“But it’s so, so beautiful, Caleb!”

Both eyes shut once more, he snorted. She did not know if he was laughing with her or at himself and resented him, just a little, for being so difficult. All he had to do was listen to her, to believe that he should allow himself to be beautiful. She had had a hunch he could be. Now, seeing clean bodied and relaxed, she was certain of it. He was beautiful then.

She considered leaping in, splashing him and giving herself a good wash in the process. It probably wasn’t such a good idea though. Someone should stay on guard. Just in case. After all, there was a war going on. Apparently.

After another ten minutes of floating, Caleb waded back to shore. Jester had not moved her butt from the rocks, nor her eyes from his form during the bath and she had no intention of starting. Especially not when he looked so wispy on land, wind rushing against him.

She felt plagued by a half-thought, an edge of irrationality. This idea that the wind might pick up and beat him down. A body was a fragile thing and Caleb’s more than any she’d seen in a person fully grown. Her limbs had never felt so solid.

Still naked, Caleb carefully picked up his pile of clothes and returned to the riverside. Without any trouble, he knelt beside the river and pulled items off the pile one by one. Starting with the underwear, he drowned and wrung each item of clothing, scrubbing with fervour.

“I have soap for clothes as well, you know,” she said.

A grimace formed on his face. “That might have been useful information ten minutes ago.”

Save for the scarf he was clutching, everything had been soaked and lain to dry on the rocks between them.

“I was distracted by your butt,” she teased, tongue between teeth.

“Well, now you have come to your senses, will you let me use your soap?”

Sighing dramatically, she said, “I suppose so.”

She felt a little guilty watching him repeat the lengthy process and knelt down beside him to help, mimicking his movements.

“I thought you were an expert on washing,” he chided, noticing how she followed rather than led the activity. “You certainly made yourself out to be one.”

If he sounded resentful, she supposed she couldn’t blame him. Although that didn’t stop her from being irritated by the accusation.

“I know how to get things clean,” she muttered, on the edge of gritting her teeth, “I just haven’t perfected it yet, okay?”

She’d washed her own things a few times now and they always came out clean. It was just that sometimes they also came out faded in places, or stiff from over-soaping. Caleb, on the other hand, seemed a natural.

He even fashioned a makeshift clothes lines over a fire he lit himself and used his scarf to keep two thin branches, stretching out from different trees, in place and together.

“Where did you learn all this stuff?” she asked. “Was one of those Empire books on basic washing techniques?”

“I learnt as a child. It is a simple enough task.”

She couldn’t imagine a childhood spent full of chores.

“Someone always washed my clothes for me,” she confessed.

He did not seem surprised by this.

“You must have been very rich,” he said.

“I don’t think _very_. But, we always had a lot of stuff. And servants to help out.” At the word ‘servants’ Caleb actually started and Jester hastily added, “Like, a few, a few servants. Not _loads_.”

“That sounds nice.”

“It was.”

“What made you leave that for this?”

“Oh, you know, the call to adventure!” she cried, raising up a clenched fist and flexing her biceps as she did so. The way she imagined an adventurer would.

“Ah, and how is this adventure treating you?”

“Well, I didn’t get to rescue a prince, but I did get to rescue a stinky regular guy and he seems pretty cool.” Caleb smiled weakly. Long hair dripping behind his still-naked form. “Although you don’t smell bad so anymore I guess.”

“So now I’m just a regular guy. Not even a stinky one?”

Forcing her gaze up to his face, she said, “Now you’re a regular guy who smells of soap and river water.” She thought maybe he was going to laugh, but of course he didn’t. “And,” she continued, turning back to the momentarily forgotten task at hand, “When you let me braid your hair then you will be a nice-smelling guy with super cool hair.”

They continued to wash his clothes in silence for a time until, finally, half-whispered, Caleb said, “When it dries. Then you can do what you want with it.”

* * *

His hair wasn’t completely dry before he allowed her to get her hands on it, but it was growing late and Jester’s gaze would not leave his head. To avoid waking in the morning with a perm, he said, “Alright, it’s dry enough now.”

“Yes!” she cried, springing to her feet and beginning to plait it. “Now, do you want two, like in pigtails, or just one like I did before?”

He considered for a moment, leaving the choice to her, but pigtails might draw more eyes than a single braid down the back. “Just the one please,” he said.

“Coming right up,” she said.

Unlike the first time she had done his hair, Jester took her time. There was no pulling on his scalp nor knots of bedsheet, sitting heavy between his locks.

“That feels nice,” he said.

“I told you; I’m really good at hair!”

“I didn’t say it looks nice. That remains to be seen.”

She let out an exaggerated gasp, followed by a great snort of laughter. Though he knew she could not see his face, felt himself grow hot with embarrassment from the smile he failed to supress. Which was stupid. He was physically naked and had been for some time. There was no part of him that Jester had not seen. This joy, however, no matter how infinitesimal, felt far more exposing.

His clothes were still damp when she had finished her work and the fire had almost completely died out.

“You can wear something of mine for the night,” offered Jester, pulling open her backpack. After a moment she pulled out a white nightgown and held it out. “Here!”

Her gaze did not break. There was no indication that she was teasing him. Not in that moment. Caleb waited just a second longer before feeling certain that this was a legitimate offer.

“You think this will fit me?” he asked.

“Of course! You’re super skinny, Caleb.” He smiled and reached out. Passing it over, she added, “You can keep this if you want. I’m sure you’ll just stink it up anyway.”

Teeth gritted, Caleb accepted her offering and said, “Thank you.”

The fabric was soft and it did fit him reasonably well, though his ankles knees were left to the elements. Nothing about the gown bothered him. It was the insult she handed him alongside the item than had him setting up his bedroll with a little more firmness than usual.

The blame could not be placed at Jester’s feet. It had been easy to forget his pride, how very much he had once cared what people saw when they looked upon him. Once they had seen gold and now they saw dust. All those years of crumbling. Even Ikithon had seen _someone_, no matter how much he’d kicked down at him. Worth keeping. Worth building walls for. 

Each time he thought his guard could be dropped before her, she reminded him that he was nothing. Made less so by his studies, not more, as had been the original intention. A poor man with a littering of poor choices in his wake.

Spitting at his own reflection indeed.

“Caleb,” said Jester softly. He never could meet her eye, but he couldn’t even look at her face right then. Her voice was so full of pity. “Caleb, you know I’m just teasing, right?”

“We should go to sleep,” he said. “We’ve got a long journey ahead if we want to reach civilisation tomorrow.”

He curled into a ball beside the fallen trunk, shivering in spite his best efforts. The crunching of leaves slowly growing louder told him that Jester was moving closer, no doubt trying to be quiet. He kept his eyes closed out of curiosity, feeling a something draped over his form. At first, he suspected it to be her cloak, but it was too thick, too warm. When he heard her return to her bedroll, he snuck a peak and saw that she had given him her blanket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so so much for reading! Please leave kudos and comments they make my whole day to read <3


	4. Back Bruises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've stopped trying to guess how many chapters this fic will be it just keeps getting longer. I wanted to update before I went into assignment mode and lo and behold I managed it! 
> 
> Thank you so so much to @sodapopmermaid for betaing this chapter

Jester could not sleep. Not just yet. Caleb was resting across the way, not having moved since she placed the blanket on top. His bare feet stuck out at the bottom a little and she desperately wanted to readjust it. Better not to disturb him, though, she thought. Besides, she had another man to be thinking of.

“Traveler,” she called out into the near darkness. There were still stars shining above and the half moon was bright. “Can you hear me now?”

There was a sudden rush of wind that did not chill her. She glanced at Caleb and saw the blanket had not been disturbed. She knew this breed of wind well.

“Traveler,” she repeated, her voice rising into song.

“Jester,” came a familiar voice in her ear. The Traveler placed a long-fingered hand on her shoulder and she let her cheek fall against the knuckles. “You’ve done so well.”

“Did you ever doubt me?” she teased.

“Not for a second. But I did lose sight of you. Just for a moment.”

He let out an uncanny sigh. It might have been relief.

“But, you knew I’d be fine,” she said.

“Jester,” he said softly. “Your faith in me is outdone only by the faith I have in you.”

A great giddiness swept her up, set a fire in her chest. She did not feel the loss of his presence over her shoulder. His eyes would stay on her. And his faith would stay with her. When she lay her head down, she slept without dreaming.

The sun had not fully risen when Caleb shook her awake.

His murmurs broke through stronger than the light as he repeated her name. “I am sorry to wake you,” he said, his face coming into focus.

“It’s fine,” she replied, voice cracking as she stretched out her arms, hands balled into fists. Stifling a yawn, she asked, “What’s up?”

The clearer his face became, the more obvious his concern was.

“I am sorry,” he repeated. “I just want to get out of the open before the day starts. I have no way of knowing when Ikithon will return, and I have been locked up for far too long to know who is loyal to the Assembly.”

“Like farmers?”

He looked both perplexed by her question, and a little offended.

“I suppose,” he said finally. “Maybe farmers.”

“Well, where do you wanna go? I hear Trostenwald is pretty boring. It might be a good place to hang out, you know, away from anyone important.”

“That is… a very good idea.”

They packed their things up in near silence, only the odd yawn breaking it. Jester was quicker as Caleb had to redress. She watched him stare down at the night gown for a moment, once everything else had been attended to, as though he was struggling with the thing. Then, with a sigh, he stuffed it into his pocket. In his other hand, quite forgotten by Jester until that point, he raised up the blanket she’d draped across him the night before.

“Here,” he said, holding it out without so much as glancing in her general direction. “It was unnecessary.”

Jester stepped forwards to receive it with a frown. “Normal people say ‘thank you,’ you know?”

“Thank you,” he conceded. “But I do not want your pity.”

“You’re not gonna get all proud on me, are you, Caleb? You’ve only smelt okay for, like, eight hours. Most of the time I’ve known you you’ve looked and smelt like shit.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

He opened his mouth and then closed it again abruptly, swallowing hard enough for her to see a bob in his Adam’s apple.

“Never mind,” he said. “We have more important matters to attend to. Trostenwald awaits.”

“Sure thing,” she said, unable to suppress her bitterness.

The journey stretched out impossibly without Yarnball to carry her. Even worse, the silence lingered between her and Caleb to the point where even the thought of striking up a conversation made her feel uncomfortable. It was different from walking in the forest. They were side by side now, and the pressure of concentration had been lifted. The road to Trostenwald was not a complicated one. Nothing arcane had tied it into knots. Something about the flat road, as well, numbed her feet far quicker than the uneven forest floor.

By evening, she had been wrung out entirely.

“We need to stop,” she said, her own voice feeling funny on her tongue after the day’s silence.

Caleb stopped in his tracks. He’d managed to pull slightly ahead of her in his determination and so had to spin to see her. She expected incredulity or irritation on his part, but to her relief, the circles beneath his eyes were as dark as her own felt.

“You might be right,” he said. “Trostenwald is still a good few hours away. It might be best not to light a fire, though. Not this close to the road.”

“I’m cool with that.”

“Cool.”

There was a moment where neither seemed sure if the other had anything else to add in which they hovered awkwardly at the roadside. When it became clear that that was the end of it, though, Jester took the lead into the nearby field, walking for a painful ten minutes before laying out her bedroll. Caleb did not put on her nightgown again. He simply took off his dead guy coat and draped it over himself to sleep.

She wrinkled her nose out of habit. It didn’t smell half as bad as when he’d first pulled it out of the hamper, and Caleb himself only smelt of the day’s walk. Still, there was something that lingered about him. Something she doubted would be truly scrubbed off until he let her set fire to every single item of his clothing. After buying him new ones, of course. If he wasn’t too proud of that kind of charity all of a sudden.

Bitterness resurging, Jester did not have the heart to speak to the Traveler, nor to write in her journal. She rolled over in a huff and screwed her eyes shut. If he didn’t talk to her tomorrow, she thought, she was gonna be super pissed.

He did not talk to her in the morning, when they shared what remained of Jester’s rations. She even offered him the last pastry from the bottom of her bag. He refused with a polite shake of his head alone. Trying and failing to hide her own rising anger, she chomped aggressively on the stale bear claw.

There was a chill in the air that day and the sun did not completely break through the clouds at any point during their six hour journey west. This kind of weather, she thought, was more in line with what she had come to know of the Empire from her brief stint travelling through it alone. The silence between them, too, was consistent with what she knew.

Perhaps this was always as it had been and she had been tricked by the light of their first evening out of the forest. That was the singularity. She had never been one to look past the good to the bitter majority, but Caleb seemed to be almost completely bitterness. What little good was in him had been exhausted by one bath.

The long plait down his back was a remnant of something she would never see again. Which was fine. Jester didn’t need his warmth; she was pretty good at withstanding cold weather.

The line between Trostenwald and the surrounding land was not immediately obvious. Farmland and houses slowly built up into a rickety little town.

When they found themselves surrounded by mild civilisation (an inn down the road and a few shops to their right), she asked, “So this is it, huh?”

“I believe so,” he replied, tugging his scarf up to obscure the bottom half of his face.

Jester searched around for something to feast her eyes upon. Perhaps a bright shop front, or a sign advertising pastries. The bear claw had been far too long ago for her stomach’s liking. As she stared at the buildings and people, the people stared back. Tieflings weren’t super common in most places, she was pretty sure, but the citizens of Trostenwald behaved as though they’d never seen anyone with horns before.

She smiled and waved at a passing family with both her hand and tail. The mother hurried her children along with wide eyes.

“I think I could have some fun here,” she said thoughtfully. “Is this what the whole Empire is like?”

Caleb gave a small shrug and said, “You know, I can only speak for a few places. I saw very little of the Empire growing up. My family is from the North and that is where the Academy is based. From what I’ve heard, though, most of the south is pretty rural, ja.”

“Did you ever see Hupperdook?”

“No.” He frowned. “Why Hupperdook?”

“I just think it’s got the best name ever. It’s the only place in the Empire I absolutely have to see before I go home.”

“An interesting goal.”

Whatever his feelings on the matter were, his tone and expression made her feel bare and exposed.

Hastily, she said, “I mean, after we take down the Assembly and save the Empire from its evil rulers, obviously.”

His face contorted into unmistakable surprise. However, before she could press him, he cleared his throat and gestured towards the inn she had spotted a few minutes beforehand.

“Shall we get some rooms before we explore?”

“Sure. Are you paying?”

“Oh, I don’t have… I mean, I will pay you back. If I can. But you know I am penniless.”

“I’m just messing with you, Caleb. But I have to say, I think it’s interesting how happy you are to accept my money when you were such a dick about my blanket.”

With a flip in the general direction of her hair, Jester stalked onwards to the inn, smiling to herself at the sound of Caleb scrambling after her.

The sign read ‘The Nestled Nook’ in faded black lettering. A quaint name for a lively establishment.

Two human women were tripping over one another to tend to the many tables, balancing an impressive number of plates and spilling only the odd drop of beer. The older of the two barked orders at the younger who, in turn, barked right back with indignation.

“Four Husseldorfs for the ladies in the corner!”

“I heard you the first time!”

It was a far cry from the Lavish Chateau, that was for sure. It even smelt different. While the Lavish Chateau smelt of incense and red wine, the Nestled Nook was a cacophony of scents that she could not immediately pick apart and name. There was beer in there for sure. Almost as though the foundations of the building itself were soaked with it. Meat too, assaulted her senses. It was an unfamiliar reality she had read about in books. This was what other people described as ‘homely.’

She wondered in abstract if this would be a comforting scene for Caleb before remembering that she was angry with him. Still, she turned to him, entering behind her, curious to see his reaction.

His face did not change as he took it all in. “Perhaps we should wait until the lunch rush has died down,” he said. “Before we bother them.”

“You’re not hungry? I’m starving! I hope they have pastries.”

“There’s nowhere to sit.”

“What are you talking about?” she cried, pointing to a free spot in between two parties at one of the longer tables. “There’s two seats right there.”

He tensed up beside her, but allowed her to guide him through the crowd to where they could squeeze themselves into the two empty seats, opposite one another, knocking their knees with each other as well as with strangers.

Caleb gave a huff and pulled his forearms together as though he might fold himself in half that way. If he didn’t want her pity, she thought, then why didn’t he stop acting like a sad little lamb? What was she supposed to do with that? Pushing down her every natural instinct, Jester turned away from Caleb’s pitiful form and tried to catch one of the bartender’s eyes.

After a painfully long five minutes, the older woman rushed over and asked, “Afternoon, dearies. What can I get you?”

“Hello. Yes,” said Jester. The woman began to collect empty mugs and plates from nearby, gaze still on Jester. “Do you have pastries?”

“Sweet or meat?”

“Sweet please.”

“Sure thing. Want to hear the flavours?”

“No, that’s fine,” said Jester, waving a hand. “Just bring me, like, all the sweet pastries you can. Oh, and a glass of milk.”

“Milk? Not a trost?”

“I don’t know what that is.”

“It’s the best ale you’ll find in the Empire. Well, two out of three are anyway.”

Caleb cleared his throat from across the way and, upon catching the woman’s attention, said, “I’ll have whichever trost you recommend.”

“Baumbach.”

“Okay then.”

Jester, feeling a little excluded, cut in, “Well, get me one of those too. As well as the milk and the pastries.”

“Not a problem,” said the woman, steadying the collected crockery. “And you, sir,” she nodded towards Caleb, “No food?”

“Just some bread and meats please,” he said.

“Done.”

With one last glass beneath her arm, the woman departed. Jester watched to see if she dropped any of her things. When she disappeared into the kitchen without so much as a clatter, Jester was not sure how disappointed she was.

Caleb had moved from squeezing himself small to scratching at his forearms. It was a habit she’d seen him perform during his more nervous moments. Annoyed that this distracted her, Jester pulled a small blade out of her belt and began to carve a dick into the side of the table.

“What are you doing?” Caleb whispered.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she retorted, wriggling her eyebrows and shoulders in attempted tandem. “What’s a trost?”

“It’s beer. Ale specifically, I believe. I have heard one thing about Trostenwald before now and it is that its main export is beer.”

“Oh. Cool.”

“You don’t like beer?”

She shrugged. “It’s okay. I don’t really get the whole alcohol thing. Like, it makes your head all funny.”

“If you have a few too many, ja.”

“I don’t know,” she sighed, finishing up her artwork. The woman lost in her cup beside her let out a squealing hiccup while the man on her other side was staring at the newly etched dick in the table. “I don’t mind when other people have it though.”

“I can live without it,” said Caleb, his body loosening a little. She wondered if he knew. “If you don’t want me drinking it.”

Jester felt her anger melt away.

“Caleb,” she said softly, considering but immediately deciding against reaching out for his hand. “You’ve had it pretty rough for a really long time. You should have whatever you want.”

He let out a little breathy noise that she was almost sure was a laugh.

A cry of, “Right!” startled the both of them out of the moment. Their barmaid had returned with three cups and two plates. Jester’s didn’t have half as many pastries on it as she’d have liked, but there were enough, she supposed, to save for later at least. Caleb accepted his plate and cup with a polite smile and a grateful stammer. All formality left, however, the moment they hit the table. He practically shovelled the food into his mouth, forgoing the cutlery entirely and breaking only to take enormous gulps of his trost.

Jester took a sip of her own. It tasted alright. She felt no urge to down her entire pint of milk, but she was not exactly fussed about drinking any more. She pushed it gently towards Caleb who, mouth too full of food to speak, raised an eyebrow.

“Not really my thing,” she said before tucking into her pastries.

Once the food had been finished and cleared (or stowed in the bottom of Jester’s bag) Caleb began to cautiously sip at Jester’s discarded trost. Not in the mood to watch him wince his way through another act of generosity, Jester turned and leaned across the newly emptied space beside her.

“Hey,” she said. The men at the end of the table looked up from their cards. “Are you guys gambling?”

“What does it look like?” replied one while the other said, “Yeah, you want in?”

“Oh, man, I would love to. I’ve never gambled before, you know,” she chirped happily, sliding down the bench so she could join their party. “You guys will have to teach me.”

The man who had been gruff and sceptical before, softened at her confession. It would have been pretty cool if she was secretly an expert at cards. Her mother had taught her a few card games, but she was not confident enough in her abilities to feel smug. It was highly likely that she would lose. Not that it mattered, much. She’d find another way to mess with the men.

“You ever played Crick Queen’s Call?”

She shook her head.

“Alright, it’s easy and we’ll make it quick.”

The rules were simple and the men were slow enough with drink that she won the odd hand here and there. She hadn’t prepared any cards up her sleeves, though, and they seemed to think her too much of a novice to allow her to deal. Or maybe she had the look of a trickster about her. She decided to believe that version of the truth. It was more flattering. It wasn’t as though she was especially trying to come across as naïve. And while she did lose more silver than she won, it was a nice distraction from Caleb’s sulking.

* * *

Caleb had recognised his mistake the moment he’d made it. He was not inept at analysis or hindsight. It seemed his interpersonal shortcomings only presented themselves when he spoke aloud. Maybe it was meaning lost in translation. More likely it was him. Why had he not been able to simply accept her offering with grace? After all, had he not grumbled at every insult-accompanied gift she’d thrown his way? It was no wonder she had grown weary of his conversation. He tried to find how to phrase the dilemma in Zemnian, in his own mind. If he took it slowly then perhaps they might be able to part on more pleasant terms.

He took another sip of her trost and hated himself harder.

Jester lost coin and made merry causing discomfort and irritation throughout the barroom. Given the circumstances, he did not have the heart to find comfort in her antics. In the fact that he was not specially chosen as victim; he had simply been the only person around. There were far too many complicated layers of self-loathing entwined with his feelings towards the blue trickster. He wouldn’t even begin to know how to separate the two. So long as the attention upon her did not spread to him, he was happy for her to do as she pleased. They would be parting ways shortly anyway. Once she figured out what direction Hupperdook was in.

Eventually Jester stopped taking pleasure in the Nestled Nook and returned to Caleb, sitting in the now vacant chair beside him.

“Man,” she said. “It’s so quiet in here now. It’s like a completely different place.”

Caleb smiled and said, more to himself than her, “It’s times like these I wish I had a book.”

“Quiet times?”

“Any long stretches really. I suppose we haven’t had much of a break up until now.”

Jester tapped her shoulder against his and teased, “I thought all your books were boring propaganda.”

“Those weren’t my books. But I can’t pretend I didn’t read them.”

“I guess you didn’t have much else to do. That probably wasn’t super fun, huh?”

He stared at the point between her eyes and searched. Unable to find any hint of irony on her face, he said, “No. Not super fun.”

She leaned an inch or two closer and whispered, “I used to get bored in my room sometimes too,” as though it were a great secret. “Stories help keep you sane, don’t they?”

“Did you get sent to your room a lot as a kid?” he asked, visions of Jester as a tiny delinquent with enormous ribbons in her horns flashed before his eyes. It was an endearing notion.

“Oh, not sent to my room, no,” she said.

He waited for her to elaborate, but she stayed uncharacteristically quiet.

His palms sweating and his heart hurting, Caleb attempted to fix the situation. “What kind of stories did you read?” he asked.

“Oh, all the best ones. Romances and fairy tales.”

“That explains a lot.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing… I just… forget it.”

Jester’s demeanour did not brighten and she did not speak to him again for the remainder of the day. It was not long before the dinner rush was upon them and there was an entire inn full of patrons for Jester to occupy herself with pestering.

Caleb was conflicted in his claustrophobia. The inn felt too big and too small all at once. He had, after all, just started to get used to wide open spaces. To the unending expanse of nature after a decade and a half of exact measurements.

At times the walls had pressed so hard against him it was as though they were under his skin. They were still under his skin, shrinking the inn, taking the floor and folding into something half as small. Keeping his breathing as steady as he could, Caleb brought his forearms across his chest and began to scratch, staring unfocused at the table. The world became blurry and the itching beneath the skin of his arms only grew sharper.

He should go for a walk.

The thought of separating himself from Jester made a child of him. How many years had he spent his days alone? He knew the rules of that world though. He knew its exact measurements. There was no custom or conversation to be had beyond the odd visit from his old master. And he didn’t give much thought to how he spoke to Ikithon.

He hated himself. He did not at any point stop to take in a gulp of clean air on that front. The hating was constant, it was only the degree to which he hated that had any kind of dynamic. Right then the hate was heavy as he wondered if Jester would offer him a few pieces of silver before their goodbye. The goodbye, after all, was inevitable.

Jester ate her dinner with a group of rowdy men who believed that she had never played a game of cards before. She took their money in the same way she had lost her own a few hours beforehand. Caleb said nothing. He simply watched on from a distance and wondered if there was anything he had to offer by means of help if things turned sour; if the men realised they were being scammed.

She was strong, but they were many.

Beneath the table, Caleb clenched and unclenched his right hand. Sparks came and went. Flames flickered. Cupping his hands together, he could hold a small fire. He held it to the side of the table, just close enough to turn the brown wood black. If the flames were warm enough.

It took a lot of concentration and steady hands, but he exercised enough to control to mark the table without setting it alight entirely. Weary from the effort of it, he let his hands go cold and studied the mark he’d left. He doubted it would be obvious from a distance, but then it was unmistakably there when you were right before it.

So consumed was he by this scorch mark that he did not notice Jester approach him until she knocked her shoulder against his own.

“I got us a room,” she said. All business. All matter of fact. “Are you sleepy yet?”

“Extremely.”

Jester led him up the only set of stairs and at the end of a narrow corridor. The room was not lit and so Caleb seized the opportunity to prove himself. With the last burst of energy he had, he recalled a spell from childhood and summoned four glowing orbs. They flew to each corner of the room, illuminating a single bed up against the shuttered window. There was a side table and a wardrobe, but nothing else.

“It was the only room left,” said Jester, striding over to the bed and sitting herself down with a creak of springs. “You’re welcome to take my bedroll, but it’s pretty similar to a blanket so…”

He did not know how to tell her that the gesture had been far worse than the object and so he simply nodded.

“You want the bedroll or no?” she demanded.

It was not the same tone she had used before. There was the underlying intent of business, but her irritation was clear.

“I would love the bedroll,” he said, looking firmly at the floor. “If that’s okay with you.”

“It’s super okay with me. Unless you’re gonna get pissy about it in the morning.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

“Okay then,” she said.

Her backpack fell to the floor between them with a thud. His first instinct was that she wanted him to scavenge through her things, but a second later she was on her knees and rummaging on his behalf.

“Here’s my bedroll,” she said, offering it. “And if I offer you the blanket are you gonna bite my head off?”

“I won’t.”

“Caleb, would you like a blanket with that?”

“Yes please.”

He looked up as he took both the roll and the blanket, forcing a smile. It was her who would not look at him now, clambering back onto the bed and crawling under the sheets.

Caleb took the time to check for the smoothest spot of the floor without being too close to the bed. He didn’t want to spread any of Jester’s things out where they might catch or tear on a nail or splinter. Once he was satisfied, he called off the lights, plunging them both into darkness.

Nothing would be resolved if he did not say it. And he could not quite stand the thought of them parting with having first cleared the air.

“Jester,” he said, closing his eyes despite the darkness of the room obscuring all but her silhouette. “About what I said this morning, you know, with the blanket-”

“It’s fine,” she replied.

There was a creak of bed board and mattress springs, and he pictured her turning her back to him.

When all had settled, he said, “I meant that I am not worthy of pitying.” Jester neither spoke nor moved. He took a deep breath and continued, “I know very well that I am a victim. But that does not make me an innocent. Everything I have suffered has been a consequence of my own actions.”

“Caleb-”

He interrupted her as she had just done him. “It’s fine. I just wanted you to know that however miserable I might be, it’s not about you, okay? It’s about me.”

Eyes still forcefully shut, Caleb rolled over on the floor. The uneven wooden boards were far more comfortable than his bed in the tower. Perhaps, for the first time since his teenage years, he’d wake up without any new bruises on his back.

Jester whispered to herself for a few minutes and then, for a further few minutes, rustled paper and scribbled hastily. Caleb did his best to close his ears and quell his curiosity. Still, her gentle snores filled the room long before he fell into sleep.

He was awake before her too. If he’d dreamt at all he could not recall it. Perhaps he hadn’t even slept, he thought. But he knew that at least a handful of hours had passed and there was a line of morning light shining through a slightly skewed pane in the shutters.

When he raised his head, letting out an involuntary groan, he saw that Jester had indeed turned her back to him at some point during the night. He did not bother reading any meaning into it. Such things could drive a person mad, and he was quite mad enough already.

He redressed as quietly as possible and took himself down to the bar. There was no particular appeal to that part of the inn over the room, aside from the fact that he was less likely to disturb her from another floor.

As a means of comfort and control, he ran through the list of tasks he hoped the day would hold. Getting books, getting a map, and getting money all took priority over the tasks Jester no doubt had in mind. Things like buying new clothes or restyling his hair. Then he wondered if she’d still want to do those things with him. A strange pang sprang from his heart and stabbed at his chest at the thought of it.

Getting money, he told himself, closing his eyes, getting a map, and, if he was incredibly lucky, getting some books.

He was already tired of how tired his pathetic magic made him.

When he opened his eyes, his gaze fell upon the table he’d sat at for half of the previous day. It was vacant. He had chosen a table out of view, tucked away in a corner so that he would have to face less curious eyes from the bar staff. It felt wrong to order on Jester’s coin without her present. Still, the long and empty table in the very centre of the room called to him.

He wandered over as though in a trance, fingers twitching for the burnt and splintered wood. The mark remained. It might remain for years. It might be noticed and cleaned up before the day’s end. Either way, it was a mark on the world. The teenager inside of him felt pride while the jaded man he was now felt very little at all. The numbness spoke louder than anything.

Then he remembered something. Not that he’d forgotten it, but there had been so many other thoughts at the forefront of his mind.

Like a vulture, he circled the table, easily finding the placed opposite his seat, his mark, was Jester’s own. She had carved, if he was not mistaking another person’s work for hers, a crude picture of a penis. 

A small laugh escaped him.

He reached out to trace the lines of the carving before he was distracted by the sound of heavy falling footsteps on the stairs. Looking up, he saw Jester skipping down and towards him.

“Good morning, Caleb!” she chirped.

He tried to not seem too taken aback by her brightened disposition, but was sure he must have failed.

“You are in a good mood,” he said.

“Today is going to be good, I think. I have a good feeling about today. We are going to buy you something pretty to wear.”

“And maybe cut my hair?”

“But it’s so pretty,” she cooed, twiddling the braid in her hand. Then, looking down, she cried, “Oh, you found my picture!”

“This was you then?” She chuckled wickedly and he laughed again in spite of himself. “Is this a habit of yours? Drawing dicks?”

“I guess so. I mean, not just dicks. But a lot of the time dicks.”

“You’re an artist then?”

“I am,” she said proudly.

“That’s fascinating. I had no idea.”

“Well, I’m very mysterious, Caleb.” Her voice dropped to a sultry note and she pouted as she said, “Have you eaten breakfast yet?”

“I was waiting for you.”

“Then let’s clear the kitchen out of their pastries again.”

Twenty minutes and six pastries later (a good five being devoured by Jester) she returned to the topic of their day.

“So,” she said, flakes of pastry stuck to her bottom lip. “Where to first?”

“First I need money.”

“I have money.”

“But, I don’t.”

“Yeah, but you can use mine for now. We’re a team, right? We have to pool our resources.”

“A team?” he asked, disbelief translating into a cold laugh.

There was a sadness to her words as she said, “You don’t think so?”

He had stepped on her toes again. His own self-loathing kept turning around and sinking its fangs into her when it should only be poisoning him.

The bar had filled up over the course of their breakfast, other patrons filtering in for their morning brews. Caleb appreciated the low buzz. It served to obscure them far more than the corner table ever could.

Quietly, so that only she could hear, he said, “You are not bound to help me. I swore I would do what is necessary to… protect the Empire. Your task was, as I understand it, to simply rescue me.”

“Well, I wanted to rescue a prince.”

“All the more reason for you to choose a different path from mine.”

“You want to get rid of me?”

“No,” he said firmly, but softly at once. “No, I believe there is safety in numbers and it is clear you are far more capable a fighter than I am. But this is not your war to fight.”

“Why not?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, why can’t I fight in it? What if I want to? Also, you should eat that.” A single pastry sat cooling between them. He wondered if she had really had her fill or if she was being generous towards him. As he took a bite from the apple flavoured swirl, she continued, “I can’t think of any stories that have more adventure than ones where the hero rises up against, like, an evil government. Or evil government official.”

“That is true. But, Jester, this is not a story. You know that.”

“It’s a little like a story. I mean, you turned out to not be a prince, so it’s started a little off course, but that doesn’t mean it has to end that way.”

“I just want you to be sure that you know what you’re getting into.”

“Okay. Why don’t you tell me then?” she asked, crossing her arms. Caleb swallowed and huffed. “See, you don’t know what you’re getting into either.”

“Not entirely. I have some insight into the workings of our enemy. I also have a lifetime of their propaganda in my head.”

“So, we balance each other out. Like a team.”

Caleb sighed, “I suppose we do.”

“So, unless you want me to go away…”

She trailed off purposefully and he, a true fool, jumped upon the bait. “No, Jester. I don’t want you to go away.”

“Good. Then we can finish planning our day. And figure out if Hupperdook is on the way. Whatever way it is we’re going. Are you going to finish that?”

He’d had about a third of the pastry, but the majority of it was untouched.

“Please,” he said, dropping it back onto the plate and pushing it towards her. “If we’re sharing a purse, then I’d rather have some bacon anyway.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so so much for reading! Please comment and kudos if you enjoyed
> 
> I would like to dedicate the blanket argument to ghostofbambi who will never read this and does not watch critical role. Still, I thought of her the whole time I was writing it <3


	5. A Noble Steed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to @grandfatherclock for being my incredible beta

_ Dear Mom _

_ Money runs out fast in the Empire. I have some very cool stories to tell you when I see you again then. But first I’m off to a town called Hupperdook (how stupid is that?). Please send money for me there. I need help. Please. Thank you. I miss you. Please help. _

_ Your Loving Daughter Jester _

Jester finished writing and looked up at Caleb. “You think we can make this last until Hupperdook?”

“Fifty gold?” he snorted, as though she’d made a joke.

“Yeah, fifty gold.”

Serious all of a sudden, he said, “Jester, that’s more money than my parents made in their entire lives.”

“Oh.”

“And we have gotten me new shoes that fit properly. Along with food rations and a horse.”

“Right.”

“We are already set for a while.”

“Are you sure we shouldn’t get you just a whole new outfit though?”

“I’m sure.”

“And you’re sure you need all that dirt on your face? Because you only just had a bath.”

Upon leaving for their shopping trip that morning, Caleb had asked Jester to hold for a moment. When he had bent down, she had expected him to reach for a loose bootlace. Instead his hand traveled straight past his shoes and right into the dirt road, made muddy from the night’s rainfall, where he filled his fist before splattering its contents onto his face.

“Caleb,” she whispered in a confused panic, “What are you doing?”

He took a step closer, the dirt dripping from his ears and clinging to the scruff of his beard.

“In lieu of a disguise,” he said, with a shrug, as he passed her and led on towards the market.

Jester did not know what to say to that so, feeling as though it was all she could do, she followed him. The shops were sparse and had little variety, though the market bustled with as much life as anything in Trostenwald could. Still, with great efficiency, Caleb found food that wouldn’t spoil, and the cheapest pair of boots in his size, a medicine kit, and even a second bedroll (after some prodding from Jester), and the purse was still heavy. Next on the list was a map of the Empire, but Caleb also lingered around book stalls and jumbled stalls full of useless junk for absurd lengths of time, never answering her straight when she asked what exactly he was looking for.

“Caleb, please,” she begged in a low voice. Caleb did not pause his scavenging through a pile of papers on a particularly messy market stall. “Let me buy you nicer clothes? They don’t have to be beautiful. But, you know, maybe something that we didn’t get from a creepy witch’s dirty dead person hamper.”

“I already got new boots,” he said simply.

“Okay, but what about new trousers, shirts, underpants… you know, pretty much everything? Then we can burn the old stuff.”

“That seems like a terrible waste of material.”

“Please, Caleb, it will be better for the world if these dead people clothes aren’t in it.”

“Let us at least prioritise. We need a map. Then you can worry about playing dress up.”

“And if we get some horses then maybe we can play dress up with them too. Yarnball looked so precious in her ribbons,” she sighed, missing sharply the feeling of a warm creature to pour her love into.

Caleb paused his map-searching and asked, “You have enough for horses too?”

“Yeah, of course! I mean, I think so. I mean, how much could a couple of horses cost?”

“Did you not purchase one only a handful of days ago?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t, like, take notes or anything.”

“Well, why don’t we find some stables and see what’s going cheap?” he said.

It turned out that, in that dirty Empire farming town, there was not a great amount of skill required in tracking down livestock. A few roads down from the market, they found a crudely painted sign advertising horses for various purposes: breeding, riding, or working. Squeezing single file, down a narrow and hay-strewn alley, they found themselves in a tight, and rather pungent, stable. About half the stalls held horses and the rest were flung open which, judging by the smell, was so they could be cleaned.

The only other person there was a teenage boy holding a bucket of water and a sponge, alternating between scrubbing a horse’s rear end and gargling his own spit.

“Good afternoon,” said Caleb, stepping forward. “We were wondering if you had any riding horses available.”

The stable boy gave a curt nod and put down the bucket, dropping the sponge in without ceremony and splashing the murky water onto Caleb’s new boots.

Once he had spit up an upsetting glob of mucus, the boy said, “We’ve got two strong enough for riding; a steed and a mare.”

Jester’s ears perked up and she skipped to Caleb’s side as he asked, “How much?”

“Seventy-five gold apiece, but I can give you both for a hundred and forty.”

Caleb let out a low whistle.

“Okay,” said Jester. “Let me just see what we have. Caleb, hold out your hands.” Without question, he obeyed, but there was a degree of confusion on his face. “Okay, now cup them together.” He did so and she poured the contents of her coin purse into his palms.

“Jester, we can live without the horses,” he said, watching her count the pile as best she could.

“But we’ll be walking forever!”

“Better to walk than to starve.”

“Hang on!” she cried. “We definitely have at least seventy-five. That means we can get one, right?” Turning to the boy, she asked, “Which one is cuter?”

“I’m sorry?” he sneered.

Caleb cleared his throat and cut in, “She means which of the two is faster?”

“The steed.”

Jester said, “Okay, fine, let’s look at the steed then.”

The boy led them to the far corner of the stable, pointed to a great chestnut steed, and then wandered back to his scrubbing. Black eyes blinked at them as the steed snorted.

“Ah, you are beautiful, aren’t you?” breathed Caleb, patting his nose. “Shall we take you with us?”

As she watched him, scraggly beard full of mud and his hair falling messy and loose from its most recent braiding, she had to wonder what had led to Traveler to describe him as a prince.

Moving closer so as not to be overheard, she whispered, “I bet I could win us some more gold, if we just stayed here and gambled for like… a week.”

“Yeah? And what if you lose more than you make?”

“Well, I won’t lose then.”

“I don’t know if that’s always a sure thing in gambling.”

“So, what? You wanna just take this one? I guess he is pretty cute.”

“And he looks tough.”

“Plus, it’ll be nice to have a pet.”

“It would.” said Caleb softly. “Though I’d prefer a cat.”

Jester was not sure if she was supposed to have heard, but she called out anyway, “Excuse me, sir, do you have cats big enough to ride?” The stable boy gave an unamused glare and began to scrub the horse’s rear with a little more elbow grease. Jester had been teasing, but she didn’t like that the boy was judging her question. In a whisper, she added to Caleb, “They do ride cats in some parts of the world, you know.”

“For real? I did not know that.”

“Yep. And in other places they ride unicorns.”

“I was not aware that unicorns existed,” he said. Jester wasn’t sure that they did, but when every other wild fairy story had basis in truth, she didn’t think it was stupid of her to assume that somewhere in the wide world there were magical horses. “Well, I think the Empire is a little more traditional. Just horses. No horns.”

“Nicodranas was the same,” she grumbled. Then, with renewed gusto, she continued, “But, the traveler told me, that, in the East, they ride giant cats and worms and even tortoises! We should go hang out in the Dynasty instead, man. I bet it’s way more fun.”

The stable hand paused his scrubbing, his face scrunching in distaste.

“She is joking,” said Caleb quickly. “We’ll take the steed.”

Once they had purchased the steed and procured, after two more hours of pavement pounding, a map of the Empire in totality, they returned to the inn.

“We should leave in the morning,” he said.

“Okay,” said Jester, weary and disappointed.

“What’s wrong?”

“I need to write to mama.”

“Okay. You have paper and ink, ja?”

“Yeah.”

“Then we can send her a letter before we leave.”

“It’s just… I wanted to ask her to send some more money. Shouldn’t we wait for it here?”

“Jester, we still have fifty gold. That’s an enormous amount of money.”

She wanted to dismiss his statement, but he sounded so genuine that she could not bring herself to do so. Perhaps it was quite a bit of money. Not an enormous amount, but more than some people had. And they would likely find some treasures along the way. Hopefully jewels.

Reassured that she was not, for the time being at least, completely destitute, Jester took a seat at one of the empty tables and began to draft a letter to her mother.

* * *

After dinner, they retired to their shared room. Caleb had intended to shave his face and cut his hair while Jester busied herself irritating the patrons downstairs, but she had begged to be a part of the process.

“You can watch,” he allowed. “Can I borrow the dagger?”

“Okay, just… don’t cut it too short. Keep, most of the length, yeah?”

“The length is ridiculous.”

“It’s so beautiful though. Like, you know, when there’s not a ton of shit and mud in it.”

“It’ll be easier to keep it clean when it’s cut.”

“You’re the one who put the shit in it!”

“I won’t have to put shit in my hair if it’s shorter. The length is a bit of a giveaway to anyone looking for me, no?”

“I guess. Can I at least keep it a little long?”

Caleb considered it. His hair had been cropped to the crown by the Academy and then let grow into tatters by Ikithon. Perhaps a happy medium might be the closest to a disguise he’d get.

“To my shoulders,” he said. “How about that?”

She clapped her hands together with glee and sighed, “I think that would look beautiful. And maybe we could put some little braids in, just to keep the hair from falling into your pretty blue eyes.” Without giving him a second to argue, she added, “Okay, I’m gonna get some water so we can wash the shit out of your hair and do this properly.”

With a bucket borrowed from the washroom, and Caleb’s head hanging over the back of the room’s only chair, Jester began to scrub him clean.

“You better not put shit in it tomorrow morning, Caleb,” she said, gently wringing a handful of his hair.

“Ja, no promises.”

He thought she might take advantage of his vulnerable position and pull for that insolence. Instead she simply blew a raspberry and continued her scrubbing. As though his head were the horse’s ass, he mused. Odd how comfortable he was with that sentiment.

Once his hair was cut (to just an inch below his shoulders, but she had done a rather decent job so he wasn’t going to complain) and hastily dried with a towel, Jester began to add two braids, leading from his temples and joining at the back.

As she worked, she said, “I promise, this is gonna look very nice.”

It seemed she expected some resistance, but he was by no means opposed to the braiding. Only the length. It had been far too conspicuous. Even as small a change as a clean shave or a haircut would confuse witnesses pointing fingers. If Ikithon thought to question the average person in the crowd anyway, which Caleb doubted. It seemed illogical for him to have told all but a trusted few of Caleb’s tower while he had still been trapped inside it. Ikithon was far too proud to run around shouting about his most recent failure; the lost prisoner he had been so certain would stay put.

“Done!” she cried, circling him to admire her handiwork. His face grew hot under her gaze and she gasped. “Caleb, you’re beautiful!” How pathetic was he that he could not even stand the joking shadow of flirtation? “Do you wanna see? I have a mirror here somewhere.” 

Coughing awkwardly, Caleb got to his feet and said, “I will take the mirror, thank you, I need to shave my face.”

“Okay,” she said, a little uncertain. But she handed over the mirror anyway.

He rested it gently on the dresser. It was meant for holding, but he needed both hands to get a truly clean shave, so he could only see his reflection in that tiny circle from half a foot away. It would have to do.

“Here,” Jester cut across before he could begin. “Let me help.”

She took the mirror back into her hands and held it up.

Forcing down a smile, he said, “A little higher.”

“How’s that?”

“Perfect.”

“I can’t see you now though.”

“It won’t be interesting.”

“Says you,” she said, leaning to the left so she might watch, her short blue hair swaying with the tilt of her head.

Caleb was very glad that he, by design of his task, did not have to look at her. There was something dangerously warm in her curious eyes.

It took longer to shave his face than it had to cut his hair. The dagger was a little dull and his beard was a mess of bristles. Inch by inch, however, his jawline grew bare. As out of practice as he was, he only cut himself once during the entire process and that cut was not exactly his fault. Jester gasped, in a similar fashion to when she had inspected his hair earlier that evening, and Caleb flinched. It was a shallow cut, but it stung all the same.

“Sorry,” she whispered, as though she might frighten him a second time. “I was just surprised to see your chin. Hold on,” she tossed the mirror onto the bed behind her and moved to touch his face.

“It’s fine,” he said.

“But I can help you!”

“It’s barely bleeding.”

“Don’t be weird,” she scolded, placing three gentle fingertips onto his chin. The pain was quickly replaced with a sting of a different kind. “There we go.”

Caleb stepped away the moment she was done. If Jester noticed his panic, she said nothing of it, turning to retrieve the mirror so Caleb might finish shaving.

A minute passed before she said, “I didn’t expect you to have a chin dimple.”

“No?”

“No.” He saw her grin widely in his periphery and he almost lost control of the blade again. “It’s very cute, Caleb.”

He shot her a glare and she began to giggle. The mirror shook just a little as he finished shaving, a snort escaping Jester every so often.

While he was off finding a broom to rid the floor of his hair, Jester had gotten into the bed and begun to scribble in her journal. Caleb swept in silence and only let himself muse for a second on what exactly she was writing in there.

The following morning was all business. There was a horse to collect and postage to pay, and a great distance they wanted behind them before sundown. So, with the letter on its way south, they were ready to leave Trostenwald behind. Caleb tried not to suffer under Jester’s sad eyes as he brushed dirt into the handiwork she’d practiced on his hair, but a pauper was still easier to forget than anyone else. And beside Jester, in all her colours, he needed as much help being forgettable as possible.

“You know,” said Jester thoughtfully as she led their steed to the edge of town. “We haven’t named him yet.”

“Jannik,” said Caleb. He hadn’t been thinking of names, but a vision of an old work horse from his childhood flashed before him. Almost as good as a cat, that horse.

“Jannik. I like it. Very sophisticated.”

Caleb thought of the old work horse. His rear end had never been all that well attended to and Caleb had stopped helping with those sorts of things the minute his genius had been noticed. Horses and gardens were important for staying alive, but Caleb displayed a keen mind and a talent for magic which promised to save them from toiling. They would eat food that had been grown miles away, would have horses only for riding and pulling carriages, and Caleb’s fingernails would only grow dirty from ink. Standing with Jester, muddy and malnourished, he was almost glad his parents could not see what had become of him.

“Alright,” sighed Caleb, once the narrow paths had passed and the wide road was before them. “Jannik looks strong enough to carry the both of us, but we won’t be able to travel too fast.”

“Faster than walking though, right?”

“Much faster.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“Well,” said Caleb, trying to subdue his rising blush, “We will be packed rather tightly on his back. Either I will be holding onto you or you will be holding onto me.”

“We should take it in turns, right?” she asked, unfazed. “That way, if one of us gets sleepy, we can take a nap, or rest our eyes, or just take in the view. I haven’t really seen much of the Empire so far.”

“It’s mostly just fields.”

“Well, hopefully some of those fields will have something cool in them. Like flowers or a weird looking animal.”

Half-laughing, half-sighing, he said, “Yeah, hopefully.”

Caleb took the reins until the afternoon when Jester offered to take over. They saw very little of interest on that first day, although Jester would slow at times, gawking at staples of Empire scenery. Things which, she informed him, were entirely foreign to her. The Empire, she said, was a fascinating kind of tedious. There was more open space than civilization; more fields than buildings.

Once the sun had set, they agreed to push on for another hour or so, before settling down beneath a tree in a nearby field. Jester tied Jannik to a branch as Caleb attempted to light a fire with only his hands.

Without a spell book, he was limited, but he knew there were simple tricks he should be able to perform. If he could only channel the energy he had found while fighting that giant toad. Of course, lighting a campfire could be done without the use of magic, but if they were cornered by another monster (or two) he did not want to leave the battle up to Jester alone.

Caleb did not manage to spark a flame. Fortune, however, saw to it that this did not damn them. At around noon the following day they arrived in the town of Alfield (one stop down on their journey north) without so much as a scuffle.

Jester gave their surroundings a quick glance before stating, “I think this town might have even less to offer than Trostenwald.”

Alfield did have a greater scent of farming to it and the huddle of buildings which constituted to town seemed to be almost entirely residential.

“Well, you never know,” said Caleb without believing it. “It might still do us good to rest here the night.”

There were only two real streets and so they found the stables and inns almost at once. Of all the rundown establishments, the Feed and Mead tavern seemed the least uncomfortable. After procuring a room for themselves and a stall for Jannik, Caleb decided to waste the afternoon looking for hidden gems. At the mention of magical items, he received a laugh in the face. He did, however, find a repurposed barn selling essentials. Amongst those essentials were a few pounds of incense and copper wiring which, if his memory served him rightly, would assist his spellcasting at least a little.

Jester followed lazily, swapping price tags when nobody was looking and carving miniature dicks into shelves when Caleb was taking a particularly long time. He didn’t know if she was escorting him for his own safety or out of her own boredom, but he was grateful for the eyes on his back regardless.

He wondered, if Jester had not been so lethargic throughout their shopping trip, would he have noticed her perk up at the checkout. Silently, he followed her line of sight and saw an aging gnome in garish robes. There was an air of importance to the man, but nothing else of interest. Knowing Jester, she had seen the quality of his clothing and the arrogant upturn of his nose as a challenge. He smiled slightly as he finished paying for his components. Caleb knew nothing of this man and yet he found himself anxiously awaiting whatever tricks Jester intended to pull on him.

* * *

Jester hadn’t been certain it was him at first. There had always been all sorts of people visiting her mother and many of them had been when she was too small to properly spy. Still, she felt that she had seen this man before. In her own home.

The name escaped her, but she did not worry too much about that.

“Excuse me, sir,” she called out, rushing over and curtseying quickly. “Are you with the officials of this town?”

“I am the official of this town. If you have questions, report to my staff or any on-duty Crownsguard.”

Jester stood upright and cried, “Oh, I’m sorry! I only asked because the last time I saw you, you were still the Empire’s ambassador in Nicodranas.”

Panic widened his eyes delightfully. Jester kept her face clear of emotion.

The gnome spluttered, “I can’t recall our meeting.”

“That’s fair. You were pretty busy. Inspecting some rubies, right?”

“I’m sure I don’t remember.”

Jester had the perfect retort. Really, she did. But then there was a great crash from outside and everything slipped from her mind. The gnome froze too. Behind her she heard Caleb mumble a thanks and the clattering of coin. Shouts and screams followed.

Returning to her side, Caleb asked of the gnome, “Do you know what that is?”

The shopkeeper cut across, “Starosta Kosh!” he cried. “We have a safehold below the barn.”

The Starosta glanced feverishly between the barn’s enormous door and the earnest shopkeeper. “The Crownsguard,” he began.

“Would want you safe,” finished the shopkeeper.

“What’s happening?” asked Jester, turning to Caleb as though he might have the answers.

“Monsters come from the forest sometimes,” said the shopkeeper. Kosh was silent in his high-nosed thoughtfulness. “The Crownsguard can handle it.”

Jester shared a look with Caleb, a flicker of agreement passing between them. Then, without further ado, they rushed out onto the street.

The source of the commotion was easily found. Of the town’s two streets, the monster from the forest was roaring on theirs. Jester had seen illustrations of these kinds of beasts before, but she realised then that there was a great difference between drawings and reality. The toad monster had at least been a toad. Just a very big one. This was something else altogether.

Its body resembled that of a big cat, with enormous claws on its paws, and bat-like wings almost as large as its body on its back. Huge spikes decorated its back and tail. The head, though, was eerily humanoid. When it looked at her, it really looked at her. The roaring was terrifying, but she desperately hoped it continued to roar rather than speak.

A handful of armoured guards (Crownsguard, the shopkeeper had called them), were engaged with the creature, swords and shields clattering from their hands with lazy swats of its paws. Its eyes continued to burn into her and Caleb.

With a deep breath, Jester split into two – casting an illusory duplicate. She commanded to duplicate to run right while she herself too to the left, hoping Caleb had the good sense to stay back.

One sword cut the beast deep, splattering blood. Good, she thought, its not difficult to hurt. While the creature whined, Jester summoned the same giant lollipop that proved so effective against the toad. Only this time, she made it look like her duplicate had summoned it. Her first hit missed, but the next two got the beast right on the ass. In a rage, it turned on her duplicate and turned it into dust with one big bite.

The distraction proved invaluable as three guards struck and hit. In pain, but angrier than ever, the creature shot spikes out in every direction. Jester managed to duck, but several of the guards were not so lucky and fell to their knees.

Hearing a human bellow, Jester turned and saw Caleb standing tall. Panic consumed her. He had not done so well in their last battle and she was too far to heal him quickly. With that great bellow, Caleb shot a blast of flames from his hands. The humanoid face of the monster began to smoke and finally, with that last distraction, Jester’s lollipop landed the killing blow.

Sighs of relief rippled through the guards and out to the buildings. The guards who were unscathed began calling out, “The danger has passed,” as the monster’s corpse continued to bleed on the ground.

The whole ordeal had lasted roughly a minute and there were still civilians on their way into hiding. She doubted even the Starosta had had time to get to the safehold beneath the barn. Sure enough, the Starosta strolled out on the fifth cry of “The danger has passed,” straightening his robes and calling the guards to attention.

Jester wandered over to listen in and no guards stopped her, even though the Starosta shot her frequent looks of disapproval. Caleb appeared at her elbow a second later.

“Good job taking that thing down,” he whispered.

“Good job not dying,” she whispered back.

Their presence begun to be noticed and they received a couple of stern looks from several guards for joining them uninvited. Jester ignored it as much as she ignored the actual words the Starosta was saying. The words didn’t matter. What mattered was the moment he stopped talking. That was when she would pounce.

Ten minutes of his frantic speech had to be swallowed before they were dismissed.

“Excuse me!” she cried immediately, pushing her way through the thinning clump of guards. “Mister Starosta!”

At the sound of her voice, he began to pick up his pace, walking firmly away from the scene. Jester moved faster, though, and cut him off.

“Hello!” she greeted. His eyes shot daggers up at her. “I just wanted to check up on you,” she pushed on.

Caleb caught up and breathed, “Jester, what are you doing?”

She would explain later, she thought. The Starosta had grown impatient, spitting, “What do you want? Just get to the point.”

“I just wanted to know how your wife was,” she said innocently.

“She’s well.” His jaw clenched. “Now, what do I have to do to get you to leave me alone?”

“My friend and I are going to Rexxentrum,” she said. “But when we arrive, we’d like to stay in style. Maybe see if we could get an audience with someone important.”

The Starosta let out a cold laugh. “You’re joking, right? Even I’d be lucky to get an audience in Rexxentrum.”

“Caleb,” she said, without shifting her gaze from the gnome. “Where are we going to next? Like, the big city?”

“Zadash,” answered Caleb on cue.

“Do you have friends in Zadash, Mister Starosta?”

“Some,” he admitted.

“Would you mind sending us on our way with a letter? Just so they know we’re, like, cool and we’re friendly and they should hang out with us.”

After exhaling long and hard, he said, “I’ll see what I can do. Wait here.”

* * *

Caleb was not quite sure what he had just witnessed, but if pissing off a small town Starosta had gotten them a foot in the gates of Zadash then he was not going to complain. Jester turned and grinned at him.

“Well done,” he said.

She let out a cackle. “Did you see his face?”

“Friends!” cried out an unfamiliar voice.

Caleb looked up to see one of the Crownsguard approach. A half-elf with ornate armour and bright blonde, shoulder-length hair approached the two of them. Of all the stern expressions, the tired but genuine smile of this guard was a welcome change.

“Hello,” they greeted. “I am Watchmaster Bryce.”

Jester replied joyfully, “Hello, Bryce, I am Jester. This is Caleb. You have beautiful hair.”

“Oh,” stammered Bryce. “Thank you? I suppose. But I came to offer payment for your troubles.” In one fluid motion, the Watchmaster retrieved a silk purse from their pocket. “It’s not much, but it is the best we can offer at this time.”

Caleb took the purse with a murmur of thanks, trying to gage the contents from feel and weight alone.

“Thank you,” they repeated. “Both of you.”

“Do not thank me,” said Caleb. “It was all her.”

“No help is unwanted. We have been spread thin since the war efforts picked up in the east. We used to manage stray beasts with relative ease. Now… now it’s not so simple. The one positive is that this attack happened during a visit from the capital.”

Caleb swallowed hard. “From Rexxentrum?”

Bryce nodded. “They don’t come to such quiet parts of the Empire very often. They just ask for more bodies to send to the frontline. At least now they understand we cannot leave this town entirely defenceless.”

“Yeah, what the hell is up with that forest?” asked Jester.

With a shrug, Bryce said, “There are rumours of course, but I try not to give too much power to gossip.”

“A wise decision,” said Caleb. “Out of curiosity, though, what are the rumours?”

Bryce let out a long breath, seeming to need a moment to think.

“The most popular is something of a fairy tale,” they said after the moment had passed. “The forest just to the south of town is said to be arcane in nature. That witches or fey live amongst the trees, giving inordinate power to common beasts.”

“That does sound like a fairy tale,” said Caleb.

“Which is why I don’t give it much power.”

“Super smart,” Jester chimed in. “Are there any rumours of princes in the forest? Like a prince in a tower?”

Caleb went cold but Bryce shook their head, looking perplexed at the suggestion.

Coughing, Caleb said, “Well, thank you for this coin.”

“Yes, thank you for the money,” she agreed. “We are super grateful and will spend it on only the most important things.”

“Do what you want with it,” said Bryce. “It’s yours.”

There was a cough to their right and the three of them turned to see the Starosta. Bryce gave a bow of their head before departing.

“Your letter,” said the Starosta, looking anywhere but at Jester’s face. “Hand it over at the King’s Hall.”

“Thank you so much. The Ruby sends her regards.”

“I was under the impression that I had bought your silence.”

“Got it,” she said, giving an exaggerated wink.

“I hope to never see you again,” he replied before walking, briskly, away.

Gleeful, Jester held up the letter and wiggled her eyebrows at Caleb, saying, “We’re doing so well. We’re killing monsters and getting in with officials… saving the world is nowhere near as hard as everyone makes it out to be.”

“You have been extraordinary,” said Caleb earnestly. “But the Assembly is a far more vicious monster than anything we’ve fought so far.”

“I got you out of that tower, right?”

“Locking a man in a tower is by no means the worst of their crimes. Believe me.”

“Okay, so what other bad stuff do they do? What should I be having nightmares about?”

He let out a nervous breath that he hoped passed itself off as a laugh. Jester continued to stare at him, as though waiting for an answer.

“We should get back on the road,” he said, not meeting her eye. “If rumour is to be believed, and in this case then I think it must be, then this town is bordered by the same forest you rescued me from.”

“Maybe, but they haven’t heard of your tower.”

“Ikithon is a talented keeper of secrets. I don’t trust that he won’t search the area around the entire forest, however. We should keep moving.”

Jester placed a gentle hand on his upper arm and said, very sweetly, “If that’s what you want then we can leave right now.”

“Thank you.”

The Feed and Mead kept three copper for their trouble (even though Jester and Caleb were heroes, as Jester pointed out), but returned the remainder of their down payment. Caleb did not want to linger long enough to argue.

Jannik carried them until night fell once more. Then he carried them a mile further. The battle had drained both Caleb and Jester, though, so weariness won out after that.

Caleb intended to sleep right away. The sooner he slept, he reasoned, the earlier they could set off the following morning. But as he screwed his eyes shut, Jester’s voice rang out into the night. It became clear, very quickly, that her words were not meant for him.

“Hey,” she called out. It was too soft to have been for his ears. She was trying not to wake him. As Caleb was frozen between fear of intruding on her privacy and fear of embarrassing her, Jester spoke on. “Are you there?” She let out a nervous giggle. “I know that you’re, like, always with me. But I don’t want you to think I don’t need you anymore just because I have a new friend.”

Caleb forced himself to think on the most deafening of thoughts, of how he owed her the truth of his past, so that she might fully understand the cruelty of the Assembly. He thought of Ikithon finding him and killing him, or worse, dragging him back to that tower for the rest of his days.

Eventually, exhausted and despondent, Caleb fell into sleep. Jester had stopped speaking some time before. Dreams of that tower settled over him. Dreams of Ikithon and an empty stomach. Dreams of Astrid watching him with pity. He was almost glad to be jolted out of the dream, until he realised the jolt was caused by heavy hands. His vision was obscured by the scratch of a hemp bag over his head and his wrists were clapped together and bound tightly. A numbness in his fingertips told him that spellcasting would be impossible.

He wriggled and kicked out of instinct and fear, freezing only when he heard Jester’s yelping from a few feet away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry it's taken me so long to update. I've had some intense self-doubt/loathing about this fic/chapter for some reason but I finally got my head screwed on properly and I hope you enjoyed the outcome!
> 
> Please leave comments/kudos if you liked it. Thank you so much for reading <3


	6. The Moral of the Story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this has taken so long! Assignments and my Regency AU stole all my attention for a little while. Happy Widojest week! It felt wrong to write anything new for fairy tale day, so I wrote this chapter!

Caleb’s assailants wore their hoods too low in the darkness for any features to be made out. The first face he saw, when tossed into the back of a covered wagon, was Jester’s. She was on her side, wriggling to her knees without much success.

“Hi,” she whispered, smiling as though this was all a part of the plan. If Caleb had not come to know her, in any sense, he might have taken this moment as proof of her treachery. He could see her sadness, though. Her fear. Shining in the low light of dawn, seeping in through the gaps in the wood.

“Hi,” he breathed back. “Are you alright?”

She shrugged one shoulder and wriggled some more.

“Listen,” he said. “Whatever is happening, whoever has got us, they don’t know what they’re in for.” Jester let out a shaky laugh and gave up, for a moment, trying to right herself. Caleb shuffled himself close enough to whisper, close enough to have to swallow the rising nerves at the prospect of brushing her knee. “You have decimated a toad beast and a cat monster. Not to mention, a government official’s self-esteem. As far as I could tell, these are only men.”

Jester nodded. “You’re right, you’re right. It’s just… I can’t use my magic.”

“Me neither.”

“Well, that doesn’t make much of a difference. You can’t do magic most of the time anyway.”

“That is sadly true. But it hasn’t killed us yet."

“And I lost another fucking horse!” she added.

“I know things aren’t looking… bright, to say the least, but we are alive, and we are together... If you were able to beat the designs of Ikithon himself then I have no doubt we will be able to escape this.”

A single tear rolled down her cheek, and he wondered if his hands were not bound, would he have the courage to reach out and wipe it away? Within a second, she had jerked up one shoulder and used it to dry her face.

“When did you get so hopeful, Caleb?” she asked.

“You are… hope-inspiring. To say the least.”

She let out another laugh. Less shaky. “Hey,” she said. “We’re moving.”

“We are.” Caleb fell silent for a moment so he might focus on the rumbling beneath. “And,” he said after the moment passed, “We’re still heading north.”

“Oh, that’s good. I suppose,” she said softly. Her eyes grew dry.

He pursed his lips and chewed on the insides of his mouth. He did not mention the likelihood of Ikithon being the one behind all of this. Nor did he admit his own mounting terror. Still, the spark of hope he offered was no lie. Jester’s presence made him feel safer, somehow, than he had felt in almost fifteen years.

The wagon rattled along tirelessly. Jester managed, with a great deal of wriggling, to sit herself upright. Caleb attempted to follow her lead, but he lacked her strength. In every sense of the word. Eventually, with a firm but gentle shove from the toe of Jester’s boot against his cheek, Caleb was up.

“You were right,” she said, watching him try and get comfortable, “We’re already totally owning this situation.”

“Of course, we are.”

“I’m sorry I freaked out before.”

“Oh, that’s alright.”

“I’ve never been taken in my sleep before.”

“You know something. Neither have I.”

“No?”

“Never.”

“Then it’s a big day for both of us!” she said.

He offered her a smile. She seemed bright. Brighter, at least. His stomach churned beneath his smile. It occurred to him that if their capture was Ikithon’s design, Jester would be in great danger. Caleb would likely be locked up somewhere colder, danker, and with even less variety of reading. Jester, as his rescuer, might skip the imprisonment and go straight to the chopping block.

After all she had done for him, he felt he owed her a defense. Or, at the very least, a forewarning of what exactly Ikithon was capable of.

Caleb swallowed hard and opened his mouth. Nothing came out.

“Hey, Caleb?”

“Ja?”

“Tell me a story.”

“I don’t know many stories.”

“It doesn’t have to be true. Make something up.”

He let out a long sigh before beginning, “Once upon a time, there was a boy in a tower.”

“Make him a prince,” she cut in.

“I thought you wanted me to tell it.”

“Sorry. Go on.”

“Once upon a time, there was a prince in a tower,” he said. Jester grinned widely. “He hadn’t always been in a tower. He had once lived in a palace – an imposing building. He loved every hidden corner of the place, but the school room – the school room was his favourite by far.” Jester fidgeted to and fro as though trying to get comfortable, letting her head fall back and her grin fade into something softer. Caleb cleared his throat, wishing for some water. Or wine. Or whiskey. “The prince excelled in every class. They said he was gifted. A gift in himself.”

“Bragging,” teased Jester.

“It’s a made-up story.”

“Of course.”

“But the prince was well aware of how clever he was. His ego grew along with his intellect. Until, finally, the ego took the lead. He was flattered by his teacher. He was sold a path of righteousness at a terrible, but reasonable cost.”

“What was the cost?”

“Well, the prince was very patriotic. Obviously. But not everyone in the kingdom felt such loyalty. In a small village, a place where beans sprouted far more frequently than cleverness, they were also cultivating a rebellion. Or so the prince was led to believe.”

Jester fixed Caleb with a hard stare. “What happened to the village?”

“The village survived. It was one couple who were the source of the problem. The prince arrived at their doorstep and barricaded their front door and then-” His voice broke, his throat feeling as though it had been stuffed with thistles.

“Caleb.”

Jester’s sweet voice cut through the pounding in his ears.

“And then,” he pressed on, half-relishing in the pain that every word ignited. “He set the house ablaze. It wasn’t until the couple was screaming that he realised… well, he thought, perhaps not everything he had been taught in school was true.”

He could not look at her. Whatever her reaction was, he did not want it. When she spoke, he could not mistake the sound of tears, however. She was certainly crying.

“Is that why the prince was in the tower?” she asked, sniffling. “As punishment for hurting those people?”

“No,” he said quickly. Hoarse. “No. It was the realising… the questioning. His teacher thought he might continue his studies more efficiently without any tampering from the outside world.”

“Caleb.”

“I don’t know why I kept it secret.”

“Caleb, who did Ikithon make you kill?”

“Ikithon did not make me do anything. I was free in my actions.”

“And in your mind?”

He had just enough time to give a weary shrug before the doors of the wagon were ripped open. The afternoon light blinded them briefly. Caleb made out two of their captors, both masked.

“Come on,” said one.

A captor each, Caleb and Jester were pulled out by their elbows.

“Jester,” said Caleb, “It’s going to be okay.”

And if he believed that, then why had he told her the truth? Or any part of it, at least?

The wagon had pulled up beside a river. No other people were in sight, save for their driver and the figures who led them. The closer they got to the rushes, the clearer the river became. It pounded north, breaking rocks with its power. And there, on the bank, sat a small wooden boat.

Their hands were still bound behind their backs, and their ankles chained. Movement was a struggle, but it was more comfortable to sit in the boat than the wagon.

* * *

“I’m going to tell a story now.”

“Ja?”

“A real story. Or, I mean, a story that I didn’t make up myself. Like, the kind of story you’d find in a book.”

“Unlike my story.”

Her voice was close to a squeak as she said, “It’s not the kind of story I would read, but…”

“Too close to real life,” he offered. “Tell me a beautiful story, then.”

“I can do that.”

Their masked captors had been rowing them along with the current for hours. Caleb and Jester’s knees kept knocking against one another. That was the first time there’d dared to speak since switching from the wagon.

“Once upon a time,” said Jester. “There was a very beautiful princess who lived in a tall tower. She was always clean, and she smelled of flowers. She was held there by an evil queen who was angry about something. I forget. Anyway, the queen placed a spell on the princess which kept her trapped in the tower until her eighteenth birthday and then she could get married. Oh, wait. I’m getting all mixed up. Can I start again?”

Caleb nodded.

“Okay, so. Once there was a princess who lived in a palace. Her parents loved her very much. On her first birthday, they threw a big party with an open invitation to everyone in the kingdom. And everyone from the neighbouring kingdoms as well. One guest was the evil queen, who ruled another kingdom somewhere. So, she came, and she inspected the princess, saying, ‘this child will grow up to be more beautiful than any other woman in the world. Have you betrothed her yet?’ The king and queen said, no, their daughter would be free to marry whomever she might choose. ‘I have a son,’ said the evil queen, ‘And we could join our kingdoms together.’ But the king and queen (the nice ones) refused to promise their daughter to this foreign prince. In a fit of rage, the evil queen seized the princess and teleported them both to the forest.”

“Oh,” said one of their captors, turning their head a little. “I remember this story. My mum read it to me when I was a baby.”

“Therad!” said the other captor. “Keep rowing.”

Jester caught Caleb’s eye. She looked as though she was trying very hard not to laugh. A minute passed, and she carried on, her tone slightly hushed.

“So, the evil queen and the princess were alone in the forest. The queen was not entirely sure what to do. She hadn’t exactly thought her plan out. Then it started to rain. She conjured up a small hut for them to take shelter in. Days went by and the hut became a house. A month later it was a mansion. Then, finally, a tower. That is where the princess was cursed to stay until her eighteenth birthday, upon which she would marry the evil queen’s son. But, what the evil queen didn’t know was that the good queen had been training in magic since the day her daughter was stolen. She tracked down the princess and, though she could not break the curse which held her, she could cast a second spell upon the tower. On the day the princess would be free to leave, she would instead fall into a deep sleep which could only be broken by true love’s kiss.”

“That seems rather complicated.”

“It’s a fairy tale. They’re supposed to be complicated.”

“Sorry. Continue.”

“Anyway, the princess grows up to be just as beautiful as the evil queen predicted, and she is just as beautiful in her heart as she is in her face. Her spirit is never broken, and she makes sure to wash every single day.”

“I do not believe that was part of the original,” said Caleb.

The first captor interrupted once more, “It wasn’t, but it’s a nice touch.”

“Thank you very much, sir,” said Jester. “The princess washes every day. And while she washes, she sings. Every single day. And every single day, a boy passes the tower, delivering flour to the kingdom on the other side of the forest. The boy grows with the princess, into an adolescent, and then, finally a man. So, it’s the princesses’ birthday and the evil queen comes to fetch her. Only to find her in a deep sleep. She tries everything to break the spell, but nothing works. Only true love’s kiss will wake her, you know? The evil queen gets so angry that she catches on fire, running from the tower screaming, before turning into a pile of ash.”

Caleb tensed, but Jester pressed on as though she had not noticed, “The good queen had the princess brought back to her own palace and opened the doors to the public for the first time since the princess’ first birthday. People from far and wide came to kiss the princess, but she didn’t stir. The man from the kingdom across the forest had not heard about the rescue of the princess and the call for a kiss of true love. All he knew was that the singing had stopped. He couldn’t understand it, and his heart was filled with such sorrow that he cannot find the strength to make another delivery for an entire year. Until, finally, the news of the sleeping princess reached him. Her own kingdom had all kissed her already, so they were widening the search.

Something told him that this was the singing maiden from the forest, and he leapt out of bed and ran to her side. With one kiss, the princess awoke. They had a very big wedding thrown together very quickly. And they lived happily ever after.”

“Ah,” said Caleb. “That puts into perspective exactly what it was you were hoping to find when you… found me.”

“You’re not so bad. Especially not since you started bathing.”

He smiled. “Well, it was a very beautiful story.”

“Life isn’t as beautiful as it is in the stories though, is it?” she asked, a nervous laugh accompanying her words.

Caleb felt a breaking within his heart. A pleasant surprise. He didn’t know his heart had any wholeness left for breaking.

“In many ways,” he said. “But,” and he caught himself looking right at her round, freckled face; blue and warm. “But some things in life are far more beautiful than any story could capture.”

She snorted and a terrifying surge of warmth spread from the palms of his hands inwards, right up to his cheeks. Jester nodded heart-heartedly in the flickering lamplight. The sky had grown pitch black. Cloud cover concealed almost every star. But Caleb did not need the heavens for direction. They had been heading north since dawn, and rapidly since they had swapped the wagon for a boat.

The city skyline ahead was grey and unfamiliar. His mind mapped their turning west. When the boat pulled into a cave, he knew they were beneath Zadash.

“How much further?” he asked, breaking the silence.

Neither captor replied.

Jester said, “Also I’m pretty hungry. Do you guys have snacks?”

Caleb was too used to hunger to have noticed the passing of a day without eating. Now that Jester mentioned it, though, his stomach throbbed.

They pulled into a dock ten minutes later and were led through a winding maze of tunnels. Jester grumbled, “Man, there better be pastries at the end of this.”

Caleb only knew west, east, south, north. They twisted and turned deeper into the city’s underbelly until finally, they came upon a staircase ending in a trapdoor. The captor in front knocked out a pattern which Caleb committed to memory. The door flung open and the lamplight was drowned out by warm yellow from above.

Caleb heard the captor greet a fellow before saying, “Tell the boss we found her.”

Jester and Caleb were pushed onto their knees, side-by-side. He could hear the panic in her uneven breaths. Caleb, however, felt calm. If he had been almost certain that this had nothing to do with the Assembly before, he was completely certain now.

They kneeled in a cellar, surrounded by casks. The scent of wine was overwhelming. It screamed of criminality.

Another minute passed before hurried footsteps were heard from above.

“Out of my way!”

A man burst in. Blue skin and long black hair.

“Jester!” he cried with a wide smile that fell fast. “Why is my daughter in chains?”

* * *

Jester’s view of her father was immediately blocked by bodies. She was lifted to her feet and unbound so swiftly that it felt impossible to believe she was free.

Rubbing her sore wrists, she pushed forwards. “Hello? Dad?”

The blue-skinned man took a deep breath. “Come here,” he said, holding out his arms. She almost ran into them before she realised he only wanted her hands. “Let me look at you.”

Jester wanted to say the same to him. His fingers were adorned with many rings, just as her mother had described, and he dressed well. Almost dashing. She wished he would touch more than the tips of her fingers, encouraging her to spin in a slow circle.

“You look just like your mother,” he said softly. “Well, except for the blue.”

“I did wonder where I got the blue from!” she cried, not knowing what else to say.

“And who’s this? Your man?” asked her father, strolling over to inspect Caleb.

“Well,” said Jester. “I don’t know if he’s mine, but I’ve taken on the really important task of rescuing him. And cleaning him. Also feeding him.”

“She makes you sound like a stray dog.”

Caleb shrugged. “It is not an inaccurate comparison. My name is Caleb Widogast, it is wonderful to meet you.” He held out a pale hand to shake and made no eye contact.

Her father eyed the offering with something akin to suspicion. Then, the suspicion broke, and he grasped Caleb’s forearm with vigour. “You can call me The Gentleman.”

“The Gentleman?” asked Jester, stepping back into her father’s eye line. “Is that like… a stage name?”

“We can discuss all of this upstairs. In a much nicer room with some much nicer wine.” He scrunched his nose at the cask which took up most of the floor and wall space. “And you,” he added to the captors, “Figure out who exactly was to blame for the miscommunication that caused my daughter to be dragged here like an animal.”

“Right, sir.”

“You two,” he said to Jester and Caleb, his stern look melting into a wink, “Come with me.”

The Gentleman’s office sat above a crowded bar. There was an undeniable seedy quality to the place, but Jester could not find it in herself to care. This was her _father_. Her entire life, she had pictured them meeting and no, it had never usually included a kidnapping and a stinky wizard, and yes, her mother had always been there beside her – a family of three reunited, but joy pulsed through her regardless.

Goliath, human, orc, and tabaxi eyes followed their trio as they ascended another set of stairs, into the bar, and then to the balcony above.

At the door to the office, Caleb cleared his throat and said, “Maybe I should leave the two of you to catch up.”

“If you like,” said Jester. Her gut instinct was to grab his hand and beg him to stay, but that felt childish. Foolish even. What did she need Caleb for exactly? She gave a casual glance over the balcony. “Did you want to hang out in the bar… or?”

“I can do that,” he said quickly.

The gentleman interjected, “I can have someone show you to a private room, if you would prefer? I can only assume you two will be staying the night, so sleeping arrangements will have to be made. Are you sharing?”

“No,” said Caleb.

“Well, we could share,” said Jester. “I mean, like if you have a room with two beds. Or Caleb, you can sleep on the floor again. That way we can still hang out.”

Caleb’s brow furrowed. “You don’t want a room to yourself? You have been stuck with me for days, now.”

Jester bit her lip. She had not wanted to beg Caleb, and yet there she was, on the threshold. As though sensing her struggle, maybe with his paternal instincts, her father said, “Well, I’ll have two rooms set up anyway. To be used, or not used, at your leisure. Cree!”

The tabaxi hurried up the stairs.

“Cree, could you show Mr Widogast here to one of our nicer rooms, and prepare another. Just in case.” There was a teasing tone to his words. If it hadn’t sounded so much like the twang of her own mockery, Jester might have been offended. She looked closer at his face, desperately searching for further resemblance.

Her father’s office was cluttered. Mostly files and wine bottles, but there were a few artifacts she could not fully make out.

He leaned on the edge of the desk, as suave as the stories, and gestured for her to take a seat.

He said, “I apologise again for the rough journey.”

“It wasn’t _that_ bad. I mean, I could do with something to eat…”

An angry spark flickered in her father’s eyes, fading just as quickly as it had appeared. His careless disposition reinstated itself.

“Not a problem,” he said quickly, pushing himself off the desk and circling it so he might rummage in a drawer. He pulled out a smooth stone and spoke into it, “Bring me a full plate of the best food we’ve got.”

Jester leant forwards and chimed in, “And some pastries.”

“And some pastries,” he repeated.

“And some milk.”

“And some… milk?” He gave her a questioning look. Jester nodded. “No wine? Alright. Milk. If you can find any.”

Once the message was sent, the Gentleman tossed the stone without much care onto his desk, amidst piles of papers, and slumped back in his own chair.

“So,” he said, letting out an exhale punctuated with a laugh. “You must have so many questions.”

Jester shunted to the edge of her chair and a tirade of words fell from her mouth. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, okay. Okay. So. You’re my dad? You’re my dad. And you knew how to find me? If you knew how to find me then why didn’t you find me sooner? And if you didn’t know how to find me then how did you find me? And have you ever heard of the Traveler?”

“In order. Yes, I am your father. I knew how to find you because a minotaur showed up on my doorstep with a letter from your mother. It was the first I have heard from her in over twenty-five years. I didn’t know you existed until I read the letter. She told me that our daughter was out in the world and to look out for you. I sent messages out to my employees to keep out for a young woman of your description, and to bring you back here if they found you.”

“Okay. Okay. Wait, is Bluud still here?” she asked, a little breathless.

“The minotaur? He left as quickly as he came.”

“Oh. Well, what about the last question.”

“Do I travel?”

“Have you heard of the Traveler?”

“I’m afraid not. Is it a place? A show?”

“He’s a God.”

“Oh, well that explains it. I’ve never been a very religious man.”

“The Traveler is not like the other Gods, though. The Traveler is super cool. He loves pranks and he’s kept me safe the whole time I was on the road. Except for when I had those handcuffs on, because then I couldn’t do any magic and I think maybe they made it so he couldn’t see me. Which was, you know, pretty scary, but it got me here! To you!”

Before the Gentleman could reply, the office door swung open. A plate heavy with meat, cheese, and bread was placed before her. Along with a plate very light on pastries. She counted three and, when she reached for one, they were a little stale. She shrugged and stuffed one in her mouth. The milk, however, smelt as rancid as it looked. It stayed untouched throughout.

“I am sorry,” said her father, once they were alone again. “I never intended to cause you any harm. I only wanted to meet you. To make sure you were safe.” His voice rang with such sincerity that Jester lowered her pastry. “I heard you were blackmailing the Starosta of Alfield. That makes me prouder than I can ever express.”

“You blackmail people a lot then?”

“Those who deserve it.”

She nodded. “So, you’re like a… secret underground rebel?”

He opened his mouth but did not speak for a good few second. When he did, he led with an, “Ah,” and finished, “More of a businessman. Independent of the Empire. Or its laws.”

Jester tried to figure the pieces of the jigsaw he offered into a complete picture. This attempt was not in any way helped by the scattering of pieces Caleb had tossed in her lap a few hours beforehand.

“So…” she began, “You’re like a land pirate?”

At that, he let out a roar of laughter. “You know, I like that. Land Pirate. But it’s getting late. We can catch up properly tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

“Unless.”

“Unless what? You wanna talk about Mama?”

“You know, I don’t think I rightly know what to say about your mother. It’s both too much and too little.”

“That’s okay. I can tell you about her.”

He smiled. “Maybe tomorrow. For tonight, I was wondering if you could just tell me what exactly it was that you got from the starosta.”

“Oh. Sure!” she rummaged in her skirt pockets until she felt the envelope. It was slightly dented from the kidnapping. “It’s a letter telling some very important Zadash people that I am super cool and should be trusted completely.”

“Really? That is incredible.” He moved as if to reach for it but paused. “What did you want that for?”

She realised they were approaching dangerous territory here. Of course, her dad would not betray her, and he was clearly smart enough to not trust the Empire. But this was Caleb’s secret mission. She was just the muscle. And the brains. And, until Caleb had taken that bath, the looks.

Choosing her words carefully, she said, “Caleb and I have very important business. Someone did something very bad to Caleb, and we intend to… stop that person doing any more bad things.”

“They are here in Zadash?”

“No. They’re in the capital. I think.”

“Rexxentrum? They must be someone very powerful.” His hand fell and his face hardened. “I hope you will be careful with that letter.”

“Of course!”

“Good.”

“Although… I’m not sure I know what to do with it. You see, we need to get in a room with this powerful person. I was thinking I could walk into town with this letter, once we’d got to Zadash, which is where we are now, right? So, I could walk into town tomorrow, find whoever is in charge, let them know I’m cool. They’ll write to their friends in Rexxentrum, let them know I’m cool…”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Lowering her voice and leaning forwards, she whispered, “I really don’t know what to do, Dad. I’ve been making it up as I go along, and it was all going okay until I realised that it’s very easy for someone to just take me while I’m sleeping.”

The Gentleman leaned forwards to meet her, placing his hand on hers. “If I can be of help. I will. Now get some sleep. Take some food if you want it. Oh, and your milk.”

Feeling awkward, Jester grabbed the glass of rancid milk and got to her feet. As quickly as her father could retrieve his smooth stone and call for someone to show Jester to her room, the tabaxi was there waiting.

“Cree, right?” asked Jester.

“Yeah.”

“You work for my dad, huh? What’s that like?”

Cree shrugged. “I’ve had worse bosses. Your man’s in this room,” she gestured to the first door on the right. “But I’ve got a second one set up for you here,” and she gestured at the very next door.

“Okay. Thank you.”

She was still holding the glass of milk as she lingered between the two doors, watching Cree walk away. Sleeping alone was not an attractive option. Distractions were needed to save her from her own mind.

But there was someone she had to speak to before Caleb. Slipping into her room, she noted that her things laid out on one of the twin beds – the one furthest from the door. She wondered if all their possessions had been passed on to Caleb, and he had been the one to place everything so neatly. She wondered if it mattered.

“Traveler,” she whispered, placing her milk on a chest of drawers. “I hope you saw all that. I can’t believe we found him.”

A familiar voice wafted from over her shoulder. “I never left you. I had my eye on you the whole time.”

Jester beamed. “Hey, Traveler, do you know if the money my mom sent me has arrived in the city yet? I don’t know how long we’ll be here.”

A knock at the door caused her to whip around. The Traveler was gone.

“Hello. I’m naked. Who is it?” she said, words blending together. Then, hesitantly, she added, “Oh, if that’s my dad then I’m not naked.”

“Jester,” came Caleb’s voice. At the sound of it, she hurried over to yank open the door. “Hi,” he breathed. “Sorry to disturb you. I heard you and Cree in the corridor.”

He looked flustered. More so than usual, anyway.

“It’s okay,” she said, stepping aside. “Come in.”

When the door was shut, Jester climbed onto the empty bed. Caleb stood hunched and fiddled with his sleeves.

“You can sit down, you know?” she said. He only smiled in response. It did not look like a cheerful smile. “What’s wrong?”

“I, um.” A clear of his throat. He looked anywhere but her. “I wanted to clarify. The things we discussed in the wagon were not… that is, that is, I’m sure you know, not the story as it really happened.”

“Okay.”

“I am not a prince.”

“I know.”

“But obviously the prince was me. In the story.”

“I know.”

“I grew up very poor.” His voice warbled. “I did not care for the small-town lifestyle. What I wanted, was to study. I was very clever. I was always very clever. So, my village collected the funds to send me to the Academy. That was where I met Mr Ikithon.”

“Trent,” said Jester darkly.

“The very same. Anyway, I excelled at the Academy, and Mr Ikithon selected me to be part of an elite group. He taught the three of us away from our classmates. We truly thought we were the most gifted creatures in the world. Anything Ikithon threw at us, we accepted, no matter how painful. It was for the good of the Empire and, more importantly, the good of our minds.”

Jester watched Caleb very closely. She already knew how this particular story ended, but she was not entirely convinced that he would be talked out of retelling it. The man seemed determined to inflict suffering upon himself.

“We were tested thoroughly,” he continued. “And our final test was the hardest. The three of us were led to believe that each of our parents were traitors to the Empire. That they were conspiring against everything we had worked so hard to protect-” His voice broke. Jester said nothing. He swallowed hard. “Anyway, we were told to take care of the problem. And we followed every order. Glady. My own parents were the last to be _taken care of_. It wasn’t until I heard their screams, as I _burnt them alive _in my childhood home. It wasn’t until that moment that I… broke.”

“Broke?” she asked.

“What I was so sure were facts became blurry. Uncertain. I broke and Ikithon took me into the forest so that I might be mended. That was fifteen years ago.”

Jester shifted closer and said, softly and sweetly, “Oh, Caleb.”

“Don’t,” he said, taking a swift step away from the end of the bed.

“Don’t what?”

“Offer me comfort. I do not deserve it. My crimes are my own.”

With a bite of her lip, she gave a stern nod. She did not agree, but her protests would fall on unwelcome ears.

“Well,” she said instead. “We’re in Zadash now. I can go see the Crown’s Guard tomorrow and find a way to get an audience in Rexxentrum.”

Caleb startled, as though snapping back to reality. “If anyone should be venturing into the lion’s den, it’s me.”

“We can go together then.”

“There is no sense in you being seen with me.”

“There’s no sense in you being seen at all, Caleb, but,” she let out a deep sigh, “You insist.”

“I do.”

“And I have the letter so you can’t go without me.”

“I suppose I can’t.”

“Then we will go tomorrow. After talking to dad. He probably has loads of really good ideas.”

“I look forward to it.” He glanced in her vague direction and gave an even vaguer smile. “Goodnight Jester.”

“You can stay with me if you like.”

“I will give you your privacy.”

She bit back on her desire to beg. After all, she was a big girl. She could sleep alone.

With the closing of the door, came a rush of wind. Unnatural.

“Traveler?” she asked of the air.

“Your mother hasn’t gotten your letter,” he replied from her shoulder.

Jester turned to look up into the shadowed face, shrouded entirely by the heavy green cloak he always wore.

“Oh,” she said. “Do you know if she’ll get it soon?”

His shook his cloaked head. “I’m sorry, Jester. But she is safe. For now.”

“What are you talking about? Where is she?”

“Rexxentrum.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! And for your patience between updates! <3


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